


Honey-Comb

by Badtusk



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Candyman - Freeform, DBD, Dead by Daylight - Freeform, Evan Macmillan x OC - Freeform, F/M, Female Protagonist, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Frank Morrison - Freeform, Gore, Horror, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Misunderstandings, New killer - Freeform, OC, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, The Trapper - Freeform, The Trapper x OC, Violence, Wholesome, evan macmillan - Freeform, legion Dead by daylight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 35,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22181152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badtusk/pseuds/Badtusk
Summary: Honey McKeever has never killed anyone in her life. But they don't know that. Lured into the Fog to join a faction of murderous psychopaths, she must convince them she belongs, or suffer along with the other survivors.{{ Includes artwork in some chapters :) }}
Comments: 72
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honey McKeever did not feel safe.

Night had crept up on her heels with no moon, no phone, and no remorse. Only shadows and silence.

Of course her walk home hadn't started in such ominous straits. At one point there had been a moon and there had even been music. Loud. Vulgar. "Music." None of which she had downloaded, but kept in twenty-three open YouTube tabs, which absolutely murdered her phone's battery. All in all she got about three songs and a half ad of entertainment out of it before it died and the crushing silence of night beared down upon her.

She blew a raspberry to herself, relishing the brief reprieve of a false company of sound, even if it was her own.

It wasn't the silence that made her uneasy, nor was it the moonless sky, or the way the shadows twisted and grinned at her - no, it was something more primal, a deep seated unease that, without any true reason, had decided that tonight - Honey McKeever was unsafe.

She pushed it to the back of her mind, ignoring the chill that ran up her spine every few minutes the night stared into her.

Home wasn't far.  
It wasn't close either, though.

"Not too much further," she assured herself with a confident nod. "If I cut through the MacMillan place I can get home a few minutes earlier," she checked her phone as if by some miracle it had been restored by the sheer magic of not-looking-at-it.

It hadn't.

The MacMillan Estate had been abandoned years before Honey had begun using it as a shortcut; Nothing left but a leaning cole tower of broken bones and fractured brick all knit together by the veins of ivy that crept over its corpse like a hungry parasite. The city had slapped a 'No Trespassing' sign up on the iron gates a few years back, after a couple of kids went and got themselves killed playing around the old place. Dangerous grounds, they had said, unsteady foundation, that's what caused the collapse of the second story floor. The city mourned for weeks.

And then.  
It didn't.  
No one forgot. The world just moved on without them.

There had been talk for some time that they might demolish the place, put up some kind of strip mall to try and make their town a little less of a shit hole. A little less gloomy. Something the groping, bloody fingers of the past might not reach. But that cost money, and Weeks had an egg carton full of debt. So, MacMillan Estate remained, a skeleton outside its own grave, unwilling to relent its place within this world.

Just as those who had once called it home would too.

Honey had crossed through those haunting grounds many times before, mostly during the day when the broken windows and cable spools were a little less ominous. And mostly with friends, so she never much felt just how terrible it was to be alone.

She squeezed between the rusted out posts, tendrils of fog curling about her ankles like wanting snakes, drawing her inward.

Fall lingered on its breath, a crisp honeysuckle mixed with dirt. The grass had yellowed to a brittle wire, crunching beneath her boots as she started her march through. The place was a swathe of overwhelming darkness that no amount of squinting or wide eyed staring could abate. It was only a matter of time before Honey stumbled over the junk left over by vagrants and delinquents with a quiet "Oop. Shit." To herself.

She kicked at whatever trash had tripped her up, cursing loudly when her foot collided with a much larger hunk of something-dark-and-in-the-way.

**KLANG!**

"Fu-huck!" She whined, doubling over to grab at her foot, "What the fuck?" She stomped down and groped in the dark, hands falling over the janky metal of a worn out electric generator.

"Huh," she squinted into the darkness, "generators...they must finally be working on this place," she muttered, turning her gaze up to look at the dark bulbs.

The fog breathed about her, rising to her knees in a choking haze.

She kept a hand on the nicked up smooth shell of the generator as she carefully walked around it. Her eyes had finally started to adjust and the shapes of the world separated themselves from the shadows.

It was in that moment, when she picked her head up, that she noticed him standing there on the porch. A silhouette and nothing more.

Honey McKeever did not feel safe.


	2. Chapter 2

Her whispers were rats chewing on wire, an incessant chittering of the amalgamation of madness that she was. Ever present, a looming shroud of spider legs and pointed teeth. He felt Her there, just as the others did and never didn’t, watching from his own gaze like a red stain on the world. It was never a welcomed feeling, the shared space of a single person. Crowded by an Entity that was neither here nor there, but beyond and before, urging them on their endless march, whispering horrors into their ears.

She lived by their hand, fed by their sacrifices, growing in Her own realm on the screams of those survivors who suffered in her walks. And when all hope was lost, when the screams quieted to eye rolls and bored sighs, She’d reach her fog like tendrils out into the world and find another.

The Trapper felt Her calling, watched as She extended Her reach far beyond the world that had ironically trapped him. He had seen this before, many times in fact: Legion, the Hag, Ghostface, Myers. Monsters parading as people, fragments of things that could be, the darkest parts of ourselves lured in by Her command. He wondered what splinter of humanity had piqued Her interest tonight, what new bedlamite might join him there in Her realm of abject horror.

Last had been the Oni, a man who was far too old for temper tantrums, yet stomped his feet anyway. Hundreds of pounds of thick, fuck-you muscle and unresolved intimacies wrapped around a kanabō. The Trapper had watched him nearly turn a survivor to paste for calling him a “big red idiot,” which was equal parts amusing and equal parts terrifying. 

So it went without saying, that when the Trapper saw Honey, a petite woman of unrenown, duck onto his property, he was a little bit disappointed and wholly underwhelmed.

Honey was small, maybe even smaller than Susie, dark skinned, dark haired, and swathed in shadows. She was all sugar and Splenda, even from here he could feel her warmth, the inviting aura of an anyone-but-killer. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t have the capacity, or that she might not have committed any previous crimes, simply that she didn’t LOOK or FEEL like she could. Even Myers, without a word, instilled fear in his stillness. 

Honey exuded a very particular aura, a I-need-to-get-the-fuck-out-of-here kind that had her stumbling over all the loose bricks and bottles that littered his estate. Not even a wink of dark vision to her, just a bumbling fool groping blindly in the dark for her escape. 

It wasn’t his place to judge the Entity’s choices, but following up the Oni’s intensity with her was a little bit like opening up a bag of Oreos and finding out it’s all tops. He scowled, as one was rightfully awarded to.

The trials would begin again soon and the Trapper resigned himself to her charge, unhappy that it had to be that way, hoping somewhere in the back of his mind it were a mistake and he could just throw her up on a hook and be done with it. He wasn’t one for babysitting, but given the circumstances, he was probably the best for the job. Gods forbid they put her with The Shape. If she was this shit-scared of him already, he could only imagine what sticking her with a monster like Myers would be like. It made him chuckle - or maybe it was just a wheeze of indifference. 

He lumbered off the porch, his footsteps a heavy, hollow sound, intensified by the clinking of bear traps fixed to his belt loop. Not too far from his home he heard Honey’s low cursing as she walked directly into another generator and then the subsequent thunk! as she kicked her foot into it. The thing spluttered at her and sparked.

Not the quickest.  
Not the quietest.  
Not the most intimidating.  
Just a whole lot of not. 

His steps were measured, slow and intimidating, each one carrying with it the weight of a hundred-or-more-so dead. It was the kind of walk reserved for people like him, the balls-terrifyingly slow approach that made the heart beat faster with every closing inch. He wondered if she could hear it, the incriminating thump in her ears, louder and louder as he got closer and closer. Wondered too, many other things, but mostly, perhaps, maybe he WAS right. Maybe she wasn’t a killer after all, but a misplaced survivor. Wouldn’t that be funny? She certainly had the look. Whatever a survivor’s look could be considered. Hers smelled of coconuts and peppermint, dressed in a deep purple coat with a plush eggshell lining.

He thought he recognized it. 

The whispering came again, passing him in the shape of mangled hooks where rat like creatures peeked their heads out from a pock marked coiling muscle of Her design. They chanted in an upside down language, urging him onward but never once stoking the flames of his bloodlust. Quiet, in a loud way. Strange too. If this wasn’t a chase, then it must be an initiation. 

Honey whipped about and stuck a finger in his face, “Don’t come any closer, asshole,” in her other hand she brandished a cellphone, thumb over its screen ready to ‘dial’ even though they both knew it was dead, “one more step and I’ll call the cops and have us both arrested for trespassing.” 

He closed the gap between them and snatched her wrist, peeling the phone from her fingers and throwing it out into the field. The piercing empty gaze of that mask stared down at her, challenging her to do something about it. 

“Jokes on you,” she said haughtily, “my phone was dead already.” 

There was a kind of indifferent resignation to her joking, she knew she was screwed. No amount of struggling would pry his grip from her and even if she managed to do so, she still had to flee across a landscape of garbage and generators, in complete darkness, to get away. Not to mention he had an extra foot and a half nightmare-fuel cleaver length of reach on her. 

“Are you going to kill me?” she might as well have been asking about the weather. “I recognize the,” and she made a gesture to her face with her free hand, “mask. You’re the MacMillan guy, right?” 

No answer.

“I honestly thought that was just something people made up to scare their kids. Which,” she chuckled, “is stupid because that’s the same thing that happened to my grandfather. Well, great-great grandfather. I’m not sure on how many greats.” 

What the Hell was she talking about?

“He ghost murdered a bunch of people back in the day. But,” she glanced at his hand, “you do not feel like a ghost. Not that I have experience feeling up ghosts. I just figured they’d be a little less...solid.” 

He gave a violent jerk to her arm to shut her up.

“Sorry,” she squeaked.

He released her from his grip, throwing her hand down in annoyance. 

Honey quirked a brow at him, “This is a really weird murder,” she admitted, “is it weird for you too? I’m making it weird aren’t I? Sorry, It’s my first time.” 

Somehow, the annoyance in the Trapper’s face showed through the mask.   
She was worse than Jed - and that was saying something.

“No,” he finally spoke, a deep and ragged baritone that made her skin crawl in all the wrong ways. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

“Why?” it was a stupid question. Usually when murderers let you go, you don’t ask why, you run. 

“She brought you here for a reason.”

“She?” Honey asked, “Who’s she? No one brought me here?” 

He tilted his chin up and Honey followed his gaze.

The sky was a volcanic black, pulsing with veins of fire gripped by the immense coiling of spider legs and crooked spines. Honey was pretty sure that wasn’t right.

“Oh,” she said.

The Trapper turned his back to her, and without asking, trudged back towards his home. Honey, not wishing to be alone beneath the spindly legs of a gigantic sky spider, decided to chase after him. Which was not particularly any more safe.


	3. Chapter 3

“Wait up.”

It wasn’t typically well advised to chase after murderers, but in the moment, out of all the things Honey had, a murderer was the most comforting beneath the veil shadow of a Lovecraftian wet dream. 

“Hold on, you can’t just point out a goddamn world spider and then just bounce like it’s nothing!” It took several steps to match his one, occasionally skipping along to catch up in his stride. Against better judgement, which was just about everything Honey had done up until now, she yanked at the man’s pocket in a futile effort to get him to pause.

The Trapper whirled about with such hatred, those dark and beady eyeholes fixated on her. Her stomach dropped about fifteen feet and threw up in itself, but she managed to keep her jaw set and eyes met. 

“What’s really going on here?” she asked.

The intensity in her eyes was astounding, so small and yet so serious, he almost fell for that alone, reminding himself not to. She had yet to prove worth, and he would not allow himself to sink with her into that void simply because the yellow of her eyes reminded him so much of angry hornets. 

He considered how he might explain the nature of this world mirrored on hers, how that looming creature relished their anguish and adjured their slaughter. He considered in a solemn silence, all of these things -while an impatient woman glared up at him from nearly two feet below him - and said nothing instead.

“Oh, right, silent killer thing, I respect that,” said Honey tapping a finger to her pursed lips in thought, “how about, I’ll say something and you just...nod if I’m right?”

He rolled his eyes behind the mask.

“You go around murder-facing people to appease an angry spider god.”

Surprisingly accurate. He didn’t nod, not because he wished to lead her astray, but because he thought the game itself was entirely stupid. If she wanted to know, it was better to be shown. 

“Alright. Hmmm. The spider thing is a result of a ritual gone wrong and you’re murdering the people involved?” 

Not even close that time.

“Spider thing is actually a leftover Halloween light decoration and you’re fucking with me before you kill me? Hey you gotta play you know. Were any of those close?”

There was weight in his pause this time, like he might speak, and then she heard it, the creak and crack of all those appendages above her, the rustle of thousands of tiny spines as the creature moved within the clouds. The fog deepened, hiding the ground from their sight and with it came a new presence.

The Trapper looked back upon his estate and then down. The trial was beginning. 

He held a finger up to the mouth of his mask, signaling her ‘quiet.’ Then pointed his index and middle finger to the eyeholes, ‘watch.’ 

He shoved the flat of his cleaver against Honey’s chest and stomach, eliciting an “oof” from her. She accepted the blade with visible confusion as the Trapper trundled off towards a shadowed red locker. He yanked it open with such force she was surprised the door didn’t come straight off its hinges. With some consideration he inspected its contents and then pulled out a new and somehow more jagged looking blade.

The door shut with a whine. The Trapper didn’t bother to offer her a second glance, but it was easy enough to determine that should she be watching him, then she must be following him. So Honey scurried along in his shadow.

It was strange, looking out at the estate, she knew she’d never leave it. Something inside her had already begun to understand that. Nothing like fear, just a quiet knowing. And that should have scared her, only, feeling the grip of the blade within her hands brought comfort in ways a murderer’s weapon shouldn’t. 

Her great grandfather would be balked to know she’d accepted such an austere piece. But he was so many generations dead and she had yet to meet his ghost.

“I’m Honey by the way,” she said to his back, “Honey McKeever.”


	4. Chapter 4

The Trapper stalked about his property with Honey McKeever doubling his shadow. Tangled vines and barbed bushes tugged on their clothes, veiled by the fog alongside other far more sinister things. Blood stained metal teeth on spring traps, hungry for sacrifice. 

A shudder crawled up Honey’s spine as she watched him bend knee to earth and set another. Hinges creaked as they were peeled apart, spring popping into place as he anchored it there beneath a broken out window, impossible to see under the shroud of effluvium. It was terrifying to think just how close she might have come to stepping into one of those traps, how many times she had stomped through his property never once looking at her feet. 

“Over here.”

The voice was soft, restrained and desperate for privacy. The Trapper hadn’t heard it, much too focused on his work and half hard on hearing with the mask. Honey, unimpaired, squinted into the underbrush, blindly slapping at his back. 

There was a passing irritation in the way he turned, one easily quelled when he noticed the quiet murmuring for himself. Bent figures in the darkness moving hands over hands in a desperate attempt to resurrect dark generators. 

Two of them Honey could make out, a grizzled looking man with a crooked nose and a young woman, much like herself, with side swept hair tucked beneath a beanie. Neither had noticed her yet, just outside their peripherals, obscured by bushes, pallets, and heartbeats.

Suspicious really, how the two of them crouched there in the dark, repairing a generator in acid washed jeans and button up shirts. Not that standing in the shadow of a masked murderer was any less suspicious. At least she wasn’t being covert about it.

The Trapper’s hands were rough and calloused, unkind, but gentle in his own way as he shoved Honey aside. There was a predatory manner in the way he moved, leading like a wolf with the color of blood in his eyes. It frightened Honey more than she already could admit she was, holding onto that lifeline of a cleaver with sweaty palms, a sheep in wolf’s clothing as he beelined for the generator.

It was hard to tell whether or not such deadly inclinations were indeed genuine, or if he merely meant to scare the two from his property. After all, by whatever grace of fate he’d spared Honey to his company, which was becoming more and more unsettling. 

‘Be quiet.’   
‘Watch.’ 

She didn’t need to throw a dart at that - there was an obvious motive - and she was positive she was about to watch that unfold in gory detail.

The voices hushed, exchanging quick sounds that weren’t quite words, but got the point across well enough. Lights flickered above them, reflecting off the hoods of the generator bulbs, gasping for breath as the generator choked and spluttered at their sudden disband. One to the left, the other to the right. 

Honey strained to see them, or the Trapper, there in the fog, the latter just large enough a man to stand out if only just. She heard the girl squeal, taking off from an arm’s reach of death, ducking beneath a swing of blade and stumbling away into the brush. He was close on her heels though, never looking back towards Honey, letting assumption be his shadow. There was no thought of sparing in his chase, Honey could see that clearly - there was a forced hospitality in the way he had approached her, but this was different in a lethal kind of way. 

A wet thunk!  
A piercing shriek. 

His blade stuck there in the woman’s back, anchored by a fracture of bone. He pried it loose with a sickening crack as the woman coughed blood into the grass, desperately clawing at the dirt in a heart wrenching bid to escape him. Hope faded fast as he wrapped the split of her tanktop up in his grip and hoisted her onto his shoulder. A sick bleed of red painted all down his arm and across his chest as tendrils of steam curled off the fading warmth of life.

Horror movies and late night investigative discoveries were one thing, watching it play out before her was another and Honey, like most sane people, wasn’t quite onboard with the whole actual-murder thing. But for some reason the Trapper thought so. 

She considered making a run for it herself. It was the perfect opportunity to do so, the gates were a short distance away and the Trapper was a short distance in the other direction of away with a squirming pile of woman beating on his chest. 

It’s now or never, she told herself.  
And…  
followed after the Trapper.

Better a deadly friend, than a deadly enemy, right?   
Besides,she still had the looming presence of Charlotte-the-Sky-Spider to deal with. If one could deal with such a problem as that. 

She picked up her pace. 

A few loops of vine tripped her up in her pursuit, which were a disconcerting sensation after watching the man lay down several traps of pure tetanus. Happily though, none of them ever proved to be quite as dangerous. 

“Oh - shit!”

The voice caught her off guard and judging by the look on the crouched-in-the-bushes-man’s face, had caught him off guard as well. 

She recognized him from the generator, or at least the shape of him. He was a roughed up sort, boxer maybe, or prone to accident, and definitely not happy to see Honey. She couldn’t blame him, she wasn’t exactly happy to see him either. That was fear speaking though, a defensive reaction to being startled. Maybe this guy was nice, or maybe not, either way, she regarded him with the same downturned frown and a very big knife.

He noticed.  
Honey noticed him noticing.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he spat, “another one of you assholes?” 

“Excuse me?” Honey bristled.

“Trapper wasn’t enough, had to have the Legion tag along?” 

“Like the movie with Paul Bettany?” 

“What? No. Frank Morrison and his gang of degenerates. You’re not one of them?”

Honey scrunched her nose, “I don’t know who that is.”

“You’ve got the Entity’s stain all over you,” there was venom in the way he said it, as if it were something Honey could have helped, “if you’re not one of Legion’s, then who are you? And why the fuck are you out here with him?” he jerked his chin after the Trapper’s footsteps.

“Why are YOU out here?” Honey shot back.

“You don’t know yet, do you?” 

“No I do not,” said Honey with a and-this-wasn’t-obvious? air. “Care to enlighten me?” 

He snorted, “you’re in some real shit, kid.”

“I’m 30,” Honey shot back, “keep that kid shit to yourself.” 

This only made him smirk, “Sure thing,” he said without conviction, “how many people have you killed?” 

“Pretty sure I haven’t killed anyone.” 

“Well you better start acting like you have, because for some reason She’s got you pegged for a killer. And if you aren’t, then they’ll make sure to correct that mistake.I know this place looks like home. But it isn’t. Remember that.” 

Cryptic and eerie.”

“What’s he going to do with your friend?” Honey asked.

“Sacrifice,” said the man with too little concern for such a gruesome statement. “That’s Her ‘game.’ We can only try and survive it. Power the gens, get out. Live another day. Though, I’m not even convinced we’re alive anymore. Sacrificed or not, they all come back at some point.” 

“How-”

“Look, you need to fuck off before he comes back wondering why you’re talking to the bushes and get MY ass sacrificed too.” 

“Oh! Right! Sorry,” she immediately put her back to him, as if it were any less conspicuous, “What’s your name?”

“David, now shut up,” he hushed her one last time.


	5. Chapter 5

It was comforting to know there were others like her that had been roped into - whatever this was. A little less comforting to know that she’d been confused for some kind of killer. Granted she may have flushed a fish prematurely once in her life, but come on, the thing’s eyeballs had popped out of its head and it freaked her out. 

People were different.  
You couldn’t flush a person, and Honey didn’t really want to.

Of all the people ready to lose their last marble, Honey was not one of them. And even if she were to consider hiding them, she wasn’t quite sure she knew how to act like a blood frenzied loon. She’d never fought anyone, thought about it sure, but never actually threw a punch and forget about looking tough. She weighed about 90 pounds soaking wet, no matter what face she wore she’d only look adorably annoyed.

Honey had other abilities though, like baking and not getting stung by bees. Both equally as useless in a field of murder. She often wondered about the bees though - after they’d killed her great grandfather. 

It wasn’t his fault, the murders sure, but being murdered himself? That was on his killers, so deeply set in their apartheid. 

Of all the people to deserve death, Honey had agreed with theirs. Maybe she could use that to her advantage, she thought, no one knew her lineage and surely her grandfather wouldn’t mind her borrowing a few lines of his history.

She padded off from David’s refuge, trying to recall the stories her parents had told her and all the people she’d ever gone to school with. 

“Oh!” 

The Trapper’s contour lumbered back into view, a hematic shawl about his shoulders. Honey raised a hand in greeting and hurried to meet him halfway. 

“How’d the murder go?” She asked.

“The other one. Where did he go?” He asked.

“Ah...I’m not sure,” lied Honey.

He snatched her up by the throat and pulled her in close, eying her through the peepholes of his mask. 

Honey let out a tiny “eep,” but didn’t betray the lie. 

The Trapper stared into her, an unsettling glean that lasted far too long for Honey’s liking. He seemed to accept her answer though and set her down. 

“Watch your feet,” he gruffed and moved past her back towards the spluttering generator. 

Honey looked down realizing she’d almost stepped directly into a bear trap, perfectly lost to the fog were you not looking close enough. Which Honey wasn’t. 

She stepped around it, “I was right wasn’t I?” she said into his back. “About the- the Entity - or whatever.” A creaking in the sky made her flinch. “You kill people to satisfy her. Sacrifices.”

He led her back to the generator, inspecting the scratch marks in the dirt around it in the silence between her speaking and it chugging along.

“She brought me here to help you, huh?” 

He paused, feeling the dirt between his fingers.

“Needed another killer on the roster, eh? Someone who could really get the job done?” Might be a bit much.

The Trapper’s masked effigy silent turned over his Estate. He stood and didn’t bother to brush the dirt from his hands. 

“You’re making a fool of yourself,” he said.

“I haven’t even BEGUN to make a fool of myself,” she assured. 

He turned his attention back to the generator and gave it a swift kick. It coughed up smoke and sparks.

“So, any magic words I need to know for this - ritual?” She asked. 

Nothing.

“Any secret hand signs?”

Nothing again. 

“Or is it just, ee-ee” she punctuated with a few stabbing motions of her knife, “blahhhh” and then the universal gesture of so-much-blood-spraying-out-of-me. 

Not even a glance back.  
He moved about the equipment and stalked off once more.

“We use the hooks,” he finally said, pointing out the macabre decorations to his home land. “Now be quiet.”

“Classic,” said Honey not-being-quietingly.


	6. Chapter 6

A loud snap.  
A high pitched wail.

Honey knew someone was one foot shorter that instant and the Trapper all but dragged her along after them. She couldn’t help feeling like a scolded child the way he gripped the Sherpa collar of her coat. 

She pouted much in the same way. 

The Trapper was a tense wall of bricks, unrelenting to her charm, if it could be called that. Not a feint of amusement between the grim smile and shark teeth. Just a pissed off murderer. 

Honey hurried along under his grasp, trying her best not to fall behind and be quite literally dragged across the estate. Even with her best effort she was often leaving grooves in the dirt by her toes. 

“This isn’t humiliating at all,“ she said with great sarcasm.

“If this were any other trial - I’d put you on the hook myself,” he growled.

As if it were his intent, he paraded her along past one of those mangled posts where a whimpering woman hung clutching at the blade that pierced her chest. Honey recognized her from the shadows around the generator, the girl who had partnered with David in a fool’s errand to bring life back to the old thing. 

She looked down at Honey in pained confusion. 

Honey could only offer her condolences with a grimace. 

A hollow metallic sound echoed over the Estate as one of those generators hummed to life. A pool of yellow light washed over the fields and broken old buildings. The shadows retreated, hugging closely to their remnant stocks of windows and empty door frames, no longer offering their kind embrace to the monsters that skulked within them. As if this were her fault, The Trapper rudely yanked Honey forward.

“Five,” he said on a voice burned by whiskey and fire, “they need five before She lets them escape.”

“Which is....bad?” 

She needn’t see the moue, she felt it in her soul. 

“You’ll be alone on your trials,” he said, “this is only a courtesy,” he said, and gratefully so, “if you can’t kill a single one of them - you won’t last long.”

“What happens then?”

He didn’t answer. 

Honey quirked a brow, “You don’t know, do you?”

“No.”

There was discomfort in his silence, not quite fear, but an unsteady ignorance. Honey didn’t like that. It was a very terrifying reminder that the top of the food chain - wasn’t always so cut and dry. Even crocodiles had their enemies.

“Ah, I get it,” she said, “so that’s one, right?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the woman on the hook, “And how many more of them are there?”

“Three more,” said the Trapper. His grip relaxed and Honey felt her feet beneath her own autonomy once more. “She brings them as a group of four - and only one of us.”

“That’s a little unfair,” said Honey, like no sane person would ever say. 

“You’d be surprised.”

“I’d rather not be,” said Honey.

A few feet ahead of them struggled the silhouette of another woman. Red braids hung about her face as she struggled with the bear trap clamped tightly about her ankle. She had been crying, still was, cursing to herself between the whimpers.

She’d gotten her fingers between the teeth and had managed to pull it apart just a few inches. Not enough to slide her foot out, but enough to relieve the pain and bring about some semblance of hope. Until she saw the Trapper.

She had known he was coming, expected it the moment she stepped into the proverbial shit. It still shocked her all the same, knowing now the time she had to escape was slipping so very quickly between her fingers. And just as it was, so did the bear trap.

It snapped shut again, digging deeper into her flesh with a sickening squealsh! She screamed, falling onto her butt in the dirt as fresh tears took her over. No matter how many times it had caught her off guard it still hurt all the same. No amount of trials would stop that. 

She scrambled back as far as the trap would allow her, metal scraping along the ground as the Trapper’s boots settled there before her. The lamps of the powered generator cast an eerie pal over him, only the stark edges of a grisly mask. 

Honey, behind him, juxtaposed terror with pepper. 

He gave pause to the moment, allowing it to weigh heavy in the air amidst pleading sobs. Then, turned just enough to pass the moment on to Honey.


	7. Chapter 7

Honey had worked for three years with a local business as a secretary, taking calls, scheduling meetings, going for coffee runs. This was a lot like that, because she had also lied profusely on her resume. She wasn’t bad at her job, not at all, but she certainly wasn’t proficient in Excel like she had said she was. Nearly three solid years of hard Google searching and reverse engineering premade spreadsheets until it all came crashing down on her when the boss finally decided he wanted to be a part of it all.

“Show me,” is all it took for what fleeting memories she had of index matching and concatenate functions to go straight out the window.

The same was to be said with the sheer balls of a fraudulent killer. It all sounded good - right up until the Trapper surrendered the murder of an “innocent” to Honey.

“Oh boy,” said Honey as if she were just so overwhelmed with the honor, “you want me to...uh...do the honors?” She chuckled a nervous laugh which the Trapper did not buy.

He gave a jerk of his chin to goad her on.

Honey cringed and looked down. The woman sat in a crumpled heap, still clutching her leg which, by the amount of dirt, gravel, and rust was definitely infected. And if not, was at least very gross. 

“Oh boy,” she repeated, “now you’re making this weird for me,” she said to the Trapper. “I usually don’t kill people with an audience, kind of goes against the whole aesthetic.” She air quoted awkwardly, still holding the knife inbetween two fingers. “Look at guys like Myers, it’s all about the mystery, the illusion of something greater than what it really is.”

“W-what?” confusion seemed to overpower the girl’s pain and fear, temporarily stalling tears as she listened to her would be killer rant.

“Right? I mean the scary part is no one ever sees him do it,” she looked to the injured woman for validation.

She nodded nervously. 

Honey continued, “he’s like a shadow or a wolf. A super evil murder shadow-wolf. In the words of Dr. Alan Grant, ‘he doesn’t want to be fed, he wants to hunt.” She looked now to the Trapper, “you can’t just suppress 56 years of gut instinct...and murder.”

The Trapper, less confused and more annoyed, replied with a deep and frustrated sigh. Confidence backed accusation in light of her rant, sure now she was the Entity’s mistake upon these grounds, a great and hefty weight tied about his ankle. 

He wasn’t about to let her, let him, sink.   
He’d do it himself.

Murder that was. 

His cleaver was brutal and unkind as it cut into the trapped woman’s flesh, over and over showering macabre ribbons of red over the ground. 

She screamed, she fought, she died.   
Honey watched it all, mouth agape. 

The Trapper, wiping the blade on his thigh, next grabbed up Honey by the back of her coat once more. Without a word, which he didn’t need, he dragged her all the way to one of those hooks and hung her up like a piece of laundry.

Comically she hung by her oversized coat.

Though he hadn’t injured her, there was a great desire in those eyes behind the mask. “Stay here,” he growled, “I’ll deal with you after the trial.” He turned his back to her and trundled off, offering a parting statement among the whispers of the fog. She couldn’t quite hear him, but she was sure she heard Myers’s name.


	8. Chapter 8

Honey had the opportunity to slip out of her coat at any given moment, but never did. Idly kicking her feet, she listened to the screams that echoed over the MacMillan Estate and tried to imagine she was at an amusement park on Halloween, because it was the only way all the blood made sense. Barring any happiest-place-on-earth tragedies. 

Maybe she just wasn’t programmed with that fight or flight sense. She didn’t feel like fighting and she didn’t feel like flighting. Both seemed equally futile, so maybe it was just the ‘A’ in grief that kept her hung up there. 

She realized after a few minutes that if she kicked her feet hard enough she could swing and felt very much like a kid again as she wondered if she could swing herself so hard that she would flip up and over the hook. She managed instead to hit the back of her shins rather hard off the post.

She stopped swinging after that.

The screams had stopped too and an uncomfortable quiet fell over the Estate, the kind of quiet that gave no illusion to the shifting spider high above her. It’s limbs creaked and cracked and Honey was sure she’d seen them reach down within the realm once or twice. They never came close enough for her to see, but she could hear Her whisperings. Unintelligible, but there in the back of her mind - or just the back of her - behind her rather - curled about the hook’s post. 

Everything about that night had been a thesaurus dedicated to unease. It made her insides turn to her outsides, skin crawl, toes curl and every other phrase of speak. Humor had always been a good armor, stupid though because she never could stop herself from joking. She’d landed herself three weeks detention in highschool once for “backsassing” a teacher. It was later repealed when he straight-faced reported her comments to a Principal who was probably never good at poker. Laughed so hard he threw up. 

Honey’s priding moment.

Still clutching the cleaver, for whatever comfort it offered, somehow not stripped from her by the Trapper, she gazed into her reflection. It was amazing such an old disgusting piece of equipment still managed to offer any surface to reflect upon. 

“Soooo,” she said to what glimpse of herself she could see, “Not really sure how this works, Gramps, but I could really use some input on this whole...” she looked around, “situation.” 

The knife did not respond, because it was a knife.

“Is it three times or five?” She muttered, “Betlegeuse is three, Bloody Mary is three, but the Hisji is five...usually these things have rhymes to remember. Crap. Eh. I’m sure it’ll be fine. If I overshoot it it’s not like MORE of him will show up,” she assured herself.

Looking very seriously into her reflection she said her great grandfather’s name five times. 

She waited.  
And waited.  
And felt quite silly.  
And waited more.  
But nothing ever came of her reflection - and certainly not her late great grandfather’s. 

“HelloOo,?” She held the knife up, held it low, held it out, as if it were only a matter of bad reception, “listen I really think these people think I’m you or something.”

She glared into the blade, trying real hard to conjure anything by shear will power alone. 

“Crap,” she muttered as the only thing she was able to conjure was the Trapper trudging back over to her hook.

There was so much more blood now, caked on thick and already starting to congeal and dry. Thin vein like cracks ran through the macabre paint, drawing thicker and longer with every motion. His mask a much more sinister veil, grinning even wider than before. Which wasn’t a figurative term of speech, it looked like someone had snapped one of the jaw wires in their struggle. 

His steps were heavy and slow in their approach, boots scarred by the jaws of his own traps and razor wire about his Estate. 

“So, how’d it go?” Honey asked him and not the knife.

He stepped up to her, real quiet like as the world shivered in the absence of any survivors. He didn’t answer right away, or even later, but instead said very low and very seriously, “You don’t belong here.”

“And yet here I am,” she said with a sarcastic shrug.

He waited somewhat patiently for more.

“Dude, I don’t know what to tell you. It wasn’t really my choice to end up in this nightmare. I’ve used this place as a shortcut for YEARS and have never screwed up this badly before. You sure YOU don’t belong here? No that’s stupid, the place is literally named after your family. Unless this is some Ghostface scenario where you guys just kinda use the name to keep the horror-mystery alive.” She wiggled her fingers. 

It was weird speaking to him at a shared height, a little less intimidating even now that he wasn’t looking down on her. 

“But-“ she said, indicating new point with a finger, “like I said, ‘here I am.’ Which means that my being here is on purpose. People just don’t accidentally stumble into parallel worlds or demon realms, they seek them out or are brought there. And since I didn’t seek this place out,” she paused and expressed her opinion with a very pointed look, then waggled her finger to the sky, “I was intentionally sought for - something. Which is why you didn’t initially kill me, right?” 

She could hear him breathing through the mask.

“I’m right aren’t I?” There wasn’t any cockiness in her tone, in fact, she was more scared of how on the nail she was, “Has your uh - spider friend been wrong before?”

No answer.

“Because it seems odd to think She’d fuck up this bad out of the blue, bringing some random innocent person here.”

“No.”

“Eh?”

“It’s not odd.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. You’re not the first ‘innocent’ to be brought here.”

“I’m not?”

”No,” he said again, “Rin was a lot like you. Angry though.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her father murdered her, she carried that to her grave, and when she got here - she didn’t hesitate.”

“How many of you are there?”

“A lot.”

“But you’re not all murderers?”

“No.”

He grabbed her by her coat and lifted her off the hook, roughly placing her back on solid ground. There was a pause in the action as he noticed the several bees that seemed to crawl out from beneath the Sherpa fluff of her collar and onto his hands.

“If you can’t follow the rules - you’ll wish I had killed you here instead. Next time I ask you to kill someone. You do it. Understand?”

“Hey, what should I call you anyway?”

“We’re not friends,” he said and followed up with weighted pause, “Trapper.”


	9. Chapter 9

Darkness swallowed the last light offered by the choking gears of the old generators and replaced their quiet hum with a distant ringing of their absence. Honey wasn’t sure if it was her mind filling in the blanks of an absolute silence or if the buzzing existed somewhere within the deep, dark empty. 

“What happens now?” Honey asked.

“We wait.”

“Until the next, uh , ‘trial?”

The Trapper nodded.

“Alone?”

“The others are out there,” he said in a manner of tone which wished they weren’t, “in the fog.” 

Honey looked to the furthest reaches of his property, squinting into the fog as if she might catch a glimpse of someone there. She almost thought she could make out a Shape. 

“Daniel Robitaille, who is he?” 

“Huh?” Honey asked. 

“I heard you,” he said, “you were saying his name over and over.”

“Ah,” Honey said with slight embarrassment. She was thirty years old trying to conjure ghosts from a rusty cleaver - not something she was too proud to admit having done even if no one was there to witness it. Still, she had to believe it wasn’t so out of the ordinary here and maybe even quite possible.

“I told you about my great grandfather, the ghost murderer, that’s him, I thought maybe he’d,” she offered an exasperated sigh as she threw her arms out, “I don’t know, maybe show up and give some grandfatherly murder advice?”

“So you could ignore that too?” There was a gravely chuckle stifled by the mask.

Honey heard it and laughed along, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Hmph.”

“Did you know him?”

“Why would I know him?”

“I don’t know. Weird spider realm that collects murderers, figured you guys might have crossed paths.”

“Not all murderers know each other. Or want to know each-other.” His tone had shifted drastically in that subtle serial killer kind of way. He wasn’t quite as stand-offish, amused even by her in some small way. Maybe it was the reward of a well worked trial that had lifted some of the tension. Whatever the excuse, Honey felt comfortable for once out of this entire evening’s debacle. 

“Well I like knowing you,” Honey said.

“You’re not a murderer.”

“You got me there,” she said, “still...” she watched her feet, making their small little imprints alongside his much larger ones, “You’re rough, but you’ve been pretty nice in a not-murdering-me kind of way. I think I kinda dodged a bullet meeting you.“

“That right?” He craned his head just a bit to glance down at her. 

“Can I ask a weird not-every-murderer-knows-each-other question?”

“Hmph.”

“Do you all wear masks?”

“Most of us.”

“Can I ask another one?”

No response.

“Is it weird if I don’t?” 

The two had meandered through the Estate and back up to the porch steps where it all began. 

The Trapper paused and looked down at her. 

The intensity of his stare caused Honey to hold her breath, unaware she even had. She waited with her heart thumping in her ears as he took in every inch of her under no duress of time or trial. He pinched the Sherpa of her collar between his thumb and first finger, rolling the fabric under the pads of his calloused fingers. He tugged it gently as if to get a gauge of just how big she was under the oversized coat.

She was a small thing, thin and weedy for a killer, someone who probably did most of her work sitting at a computer and most of her working out on a yoga mat. She’d never be able to lift a body, let alone reach a hook to hang them on. 

Several more bees crawled out from the fabric of her coat and up over his knuckles. He pulled his hand away, bringing them close to his mask to inspect before that pointed stare fell back on Honey.

“No,” he said, and was honest. 

He shifted his weight to the side, inviting Honey into his home. Crooked and dilapidated, but somehow still welcoming with the warmth of a well loved home. Mud had been tracked in so much over the years, if there were such a thing in this place, that the floor had a permanent gritty feel. Peeling walls and bowed floorboards, the couch looked thirty years beyond death with tufts of fluff peeking out of pillow tears and stains which needed no questioning. A few side tables and broken frames, some still with photographs behind cracked glass made this place look almost lived in. 

Honey crossed over the threshold as the Trapper closed them off from the Entity’s realm, locking the three very different deadbolts on the door.

He unhooked the remaining traps from his belt and set them by the door with a soft ‘clink.’ 

“But you can’t call yourself Honey,” he said.

“Oh, right,” she said, “an alias, like how you use the Trapper.”

He gave a single nod as he moved about Honey and settled into the ratty old couch. 

“Mhm.”

It was odd to see such a silent and brutal killer relaxing. There weren’t many stories or movies that existed to show the more human sides behind those masks, only ever existing in shadows and bloodshed. Somehow that old couch stole away the illusion and left her with just - a guy. 

He peeled off the mask and set it beside him on the arm of the couch. 

Honey felt her cheeks redden, as if he had stripped all his clothing off and sat before her stark naked. She awkwardly looked up and bounced on the balls of her feet. 

The Trapper chuckled again.

”How will I know, uh, when these trials start anyway?”

“You just do.” 

“Will I be with you for them?”

“Some,” he said.

“So you’re like my Batman.”

“I’m not calling you, Robin.”

Honey grinned, her eyes slowly adjusting to the presence of an unmasked killer. Drifting down from the ceiling she took him in. He was bald with scarred skin and brown eyes, a deep and old wound slashed right over his nose and lips. Somehow, even with all the vicious markings of his past, he seemed so much more approachable without that horrifying mask.

“You’re not calling me Batman either,” he added before she had a chance to open her mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

“There’s a bedroom upstairs,” the Trapper said, tilting his head back against the rat gnawed cushioning.

“Oh,” Honey looked up to the ceiling, then back down, “I can take the couch, I’m small.” 

The Trapper didn’t acknowledge the polite refusal, his eyes already closed, breaths steady and deep as if sleep had already whisked him from her ear. 

She felt bad leaving him there where the chill of the fog still reached its groping claws. No blanket or quilt, not even an extra pillow to throw on top of himself or the quiet murmuring of late night tv for company, just a cold and empty home, creaking in the darkness. 

Honey grimaced in her guilt and trudged up the stairs, hoping he might have an extra throw she could offer him. Though it seemed quite unlikely, murderers and homemakers weren’t exactly a common pair and it was hard to imagine someone like the Trapper keeping extra blankets for company. 

The steps were an unquiet companion, each and every one groaning beneath her boots as she climbed further up into his estate. The railing had been busted some time ago, one of the brackets had come completely free of the wall, leaving it a wobbly, insecure handle. Out of habit she still held onto it, despite all the no-good it would do should she trip.

Dusty frames lined the walls, old photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings: the success of their family, his father, a family portrait clipped and folded made up of black and grey dots. It was a shame to see his memories filtered through a film of dirt and grime, forgotten even as they decorated a stairwell that no doubt had once led to happier times. Though, happier times rarely led to murder. 

“MacMillan Business Flourishes.”  
“Year Old Mining Business Still Growing.”  
“Hundreds Dead in Cave in.”   
“Foul Play Suspected in Mining Cave In”  
“Archie MacMillan Found Dead.”  
“Where is Evan MacMillan?” 

Or maybe they did.

She hopped up the last few steps and made her way down the hall, poking her head into each room until she found the bedroom. 

Honey wasn’t sure what she expected from him. He was all sharp edges and narrowed eyes, what kind of bedding does a man like that own? How does he decorate his room? With beheaded stuffed animals and pictures of crime scenes? A macabre mobile made of bones? Paintings made of blood?

No, in fact it was much more underwhelming: a single bed, a single side table with a single empty glass of water on top of it. A single dresser positioned off center the opposite wall, which she couldn’t help but peek into, quietly pulling open one of the drawers and finding a surprising array of neatly folded clothing. 

Flannels and button ups, nice slacks too, the kind of things she expected her father might wear. The kind of things that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t for the life of her imagine the Trapper wearing. 

She quietly closed the drawer and turned back to the bed. Generic, plain, a single duvet which he’d never bothered to cover. Honey couldn’t blame him, those things were a nightmare even with help. No extra decorative quilts, no pill fleece throw, just a duvet and a single deep purple pillow with his imprint still pressed within its center.

She blew a raspberry and looked about the room, eyeing a closet and pulling back one of the curved and off track doors. It took a bit of elbowing to get it open and when it gave way she was greeted with a hanging assortment of stained overalls and butcher smocks.

“Oh,” said Honey, “there’s the serial killer stuff.” 

She screwed her face up and gingerly moved his gear about. So much blood had seeped into the fabric over time that permanent black stains decorated their chest and back like a macabre Rorschach. She couldn’t really judge his fashion choices all that much, when she’d inherited her grandfather’s coat it had been still sticky with honey, even now it still faintly smelled of it, but it was important to her family, just as she figured these clothes were important to him.

Then she saw it there, stuffed at the far back of the closet, behind the other half of door that refused to budge, a crumpled heap of blanket.

“Please don’t be a dead body, please don’t be a dead body,” Honey squeezed in and pulled the roll of blanket out. It smelled like mothballs and must, but for the most part, were notably clean and with no extra body parts hidden within the folds.

She inspected it, rolled it over a few times in her hands, and when she was satisfied it hid no surprises, returned to the Trapper downstairs and gently threw it over his lap.

He didn’t even budge, positively drained from a full day of killing people and putting up with Honey. More so from the latter. Her parents would probably agree with him too.

A shivering unease crept up her spine as she stood there in the what-passed-for-a-living-room staring at what-passed-for-a-man. The skin on her scalp prickled. It wasn’t the Trapper that set her nerves on edge, but the sudden realization that someone else, somewhere beyond the window’s gaze, stood staring in at her. The Trapper had said it himself, they weren’t alone in this realm of fog, and he certainly wasn’t the only killer that lurked within the darkness.

Honey didn’t dare tempt curiosity, no matter how much the voice in her head screamed for verification. It was hard to decide which was worse - knowing or not knowing. She figured it didn’t matter though, you really didn’t see killers hunting killers, and even if they tried to get to her they had a brick house of a man to get through first.

Assuming he cared to protect her.  
Honey liked to assume, even if it didn’t quell her fears.

She offered a quiet “Night,” to the Trapper before quietly padding back up the stairs.

Any five year old can tell you how frightening it can be to sleep in an unfamiliar house. The floors creak different, the foundation settles uneasily, and the shadows appear deeper. Even the pictures formed in the popcorn texture of the ceiling seemed more sinister. 

Honey felt five years old as she clutched the duvet tightly to her chin, staring up into the molding as if it might help her to forget the window beside her borrowed bed. It was amazing to think she’d survived a night of murder only to be terrified to sleep.

She flopped about, put her back to the window only to find herself staring into a closet full of bloody clothes. She flipped around and stared out a window into darkness and imagined faces hiding there in the fog. She slapped the pillow over her face and found that that was quite comfortable - until she couldn’t breath, and threw it down to her knees.

She sighed and weighed her options: stay awake in terrified silence or drag all the blankets and pillows downstairs. 

She sat up and punched her hands into the pillow on her lap.

It wheezed in response.

She squinted at the window and decided on the third, more terrifying option. Carefully she clambered out of bed and swept her sleeve over the filthy pane. In the crescent cleanliness she could make out the outlines of the discarded cable spools and supply crates. 

“It’s just the same old spooky yard,” she assured herself, “same old spider-monster and same old - oh - Oh!” She stumbled backwards, falling over the bed and using the momentum to propel herself onto the floor, out the door, and down the steps. She missed a few and came crashing down hard on her knees. Reaching the very bottom in a bruised heap, she quickly scrambled up to the couch and threw herself over the back, completely missing the cushions altogether.

She landed with a hard ‘whump!’ 

The Trapper gave a start and snatched up his cleaver, still swathed in blankets he jumped to his feet only to find Honey on the floor beside them. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He growled.

Honey pulled herself up and pointed to the window, “You didn’t tell me Michael fucking Myers was literally here.”

The Trapper frowned with the same exasperated annoyance as an overworked single mother. He sighed a deep and heavy noise as he moved to the window to investigate Honey’s claim.

Sure enough, lingering along the perimeter stood the Shape, an unmoving statue of evil. 

“Hm,” said the Trapper, “probably just interested in you,” he said those words so matter-of-factly as he sat back down on the couch. “You’re the first new face in a long time.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Honey asked.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel better,” replied the Trapper.

“Well,” she spluttered, “can you tell him to go away?”

“I could.”

Honey shook her head and threw out her arms in a well-are-you-going-to? gesture.

“Wouldn’t do any good.”

Honey replied with a series of sounds he couldn’t quite decipher and didn’t try to at all, merely offering a cocked eyebrow and firmly set jaw of annoyance.

“I take it back,” she finally said, conjuring up some feigned persona of defiance, “you are not very nice at all.”

“Oh no,” said the Trapper with in complete and utter deadpan, “who would have thought.” He cozied back into his couch imprint.

“As long as he thinks you’re one of us, you’re fine,” he added, “just don’t do anything stupid. Like talk.”

“Har, har.”

Honey regarded the window with uncertainty. It wasn’t hard to determine she was out of her element, even if she managed to keep her mouth shut, she didn’t exactly exude pure evil like someone like Myers. He’d know right away she was just some big cosmic mistake.

She tiptoed to the couch and cautiously sat at the very edge-most cushion.

“What’re you doing,” the Trapper asked, eyes closed.

“Classic horror movie mistake, the main party splits up and someone dies. I’m staying down here with you.” 

The Trapper groaned, wishing the Entity had dropped her on any other killer’s doorstep but his. 

“What makes you think I’d protect you? I’m not very nice, remember?”

“I’ll just let him kill you while I make my escape.”

The Trapper chuckled. 

Honey peeled off her jack and toss it over her chest and knees only to have the Trapper drop the other half of the blanket over her. He didn’t seem to acknowledge her or the gesture, and out of respect, Honey didn’t mention it either.


	11. Chapter 11

The Trapper could hear her breathing, soft and heavy as she drifted off to sleep, somehow comforted with his presence between her and the outside world. He couldn’t say he outwardly liked her, but there was something annoyingly charming about her - and utterly strange. She wasn’t a killer, but he could sense her purpose, just as the fog had, and understood, if only in part, why the Entity had chosen her.

He turned his gaze back to the window, watching the shadows that watched him back without so much a care or worry. These were their only times of leisure, left to their own comforts while their prey huddled around an eternal bonfire and tried to forget their fates. Jed had tried to initiate some kind of get together like that between the killers, which only ever resulted in one or two showing up. The Trapper had never been one of them, but Susie had told him enough to solidify his choice of absence. 

Cheap drinks and pissing contests between Legion: which of them was the better killer, who garnered the most favor from the Entity. High-school levels of bullshittery like that. 

Susie only ever attended at Frank’s behest, to be honest, she admitted, they made her uncomfortable, arguments toeing dangerous lines. Killing survivors was one thing, to start shit with unhinged, half drunk cold blooded murderers was another thing. 

The Trapper never tried to comfort her either, but just like Honey, she had still thanked him for being there. 

And just like him, Myers wasn’t one to seek out company either, and truth be told, no one had the balls to invite him. Even Jed became schoolgirl shy whenever Frank teased him about the Shape. Everyone tiptoed his presence, something not afforded to every killer, knowing that even they maintained some semblance of humanity.

But Myers was something else entirely.

The Trapper knew his presence within the Estate wasn’t accidental. He was truthful in his guess that he merely shared interest in the sudden arrival of a new villain. What he didn’t mention was the impending trial that would swallow both Honey and Haddonfield’s Boogeyman. 

An uncomfortable feeling crept up on him. Guilt, he figured, and did his best to brush it off. She would be fine, so long as she followed his instructions. 

Honey shifted about in her sleep. She flipped about and fell against the Trapper’s arm, seemingly unbothered by the shrapnel that pierced his skin. 

He scowled, but let her alone, resigned to his fate as a pillow until the Entity called her from him.

Frank was a curious thought though, the man had successfully taken a group of misfits and turned them into killers. Even Susie, the bleeding heart of the group had managed to plunge her knife into a few. Maybe he’d take Jed up on his next get together and introduce Honey. If he couldn’t change her, Frank certainly could. 

She only had to survive Myers first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 


	12. Chapter 12

_‘Why do you fight it? Why cling to this sentimentality? If you would only listen, if you would only learn just a little._

_Give them something to fear, to talk about around the campfire. Become the rumor that was me. Become...immortal.’_

Honey couldn’t remember falling asleep, nor could she remember waking up, she just simply - was. She felt a cold breeze on her cheek, the thick dewy smell of fog, the crushing dark that choked the realm, everything that had been locked out with three different deadbolts. 

Her eyes adjusted to the soft glow of streetlights and the rhythmic pulsing of red and blue lights of an abandoned cruiser. Someone was chattering over the radio, desperately trying to get in contact with whoever had disappeared from the driver’s seat. 

The cool metal of a twisted hook found comfort in her grip, wholly familiar to some part of her, but not belonging all the same. She wagered she’d been dragged into another trial, by whatever mystical natures possessed by the Entity and She seemed to confirm the notion within the whispers of the fog. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” She muttered to herself. Wasn’t one trial enough for the night? Couldn’t she just enjoy NOT being pressured to murder people for two minutes? Was that really so much to ask.

She sighed heavily. Her shoulders sagged and she pouted into the spider limb twist of sky. “You suck so much ass, Spider-Lady,” she announced bitterly. 

A Devil’s chuckle hummed within the creeping tendrils of fog.

“Better get this over with,” she grumbled. This wasn’t stumbling in blind through a hole in a fence, this was an intentional set of play, posed within this Haddonfield playhouse like some macabre doll. She took in her surroundings, more so in hopes of finding the Trapper hidden somewhere within the foliage.

“Trapper?” She whispered his name and paused for response, staring into the shadows as if she might conjure him there. When no answer came she took a few tentative steps down the street and tried again, projecting her voice on a forced whisper now, just a little bit louder. “Trapper?”

Still nothing.

“Oh come on with that silent stalker shit, where are you?” She hissed into the darkness as she crept further on down the street, “I am NOT doing this alone.”

Red and blue lights danced over her face and cast eerie blinking shadows along the buildings that lined the road. For whatever reason, Honey poked her head inside, as if she might find him there, as if he would ever even fit through the door.

Nothing and no one.

Heavy boots marked his presence behind her, silent otherwise, breathing quietly through his mask.

Honey jumped and bumped her head off the door frame of the car. Grabbing at the sore spot she cursed him, “What the fuck man? You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

She turned around.  
And wished she hadn’t.

This was most certainly not the Trapper, but a much more sinister Shape. He was dressed in a navy blue boiler suit zipped right up to the neck. Black stains painted his arms and flecked his chest, some grease and others a much less innocent substance. Honey couldn’t bring herself to look up past the top of his collar, right where the white of his mask started., instead staring very intently into his chest like it would make any difference in the grand scheme of things. 

“Totally thought you were someone else,” she admitted, “that’s my bad.” She took a step back from him, feeling the police cruiser against her back and knowing she was very much screwed in the moment. 

Slowly she allowed her gaze to crawl up over him like a horror movie rip off of a Lucasfilm intro.

_‘ A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..._

__

_Haddonfield sleeps easy tonight, unaware of the horrors that await it. THE SHAPE returns with the young Honey McKeever for a ghastly night of murder, stalking the shadows with deadly intent at the behest of the sinister ENTITY._ ‘

It took a lot of effort to look up into his mask, feeling smaller and smaller the higher her vision climbed until finally she met his gaze. There was no humanity there, no light behind those cold, dead eyes, just an empty, unabashed evil. 

Honey couldn’t even feign ease.

He had probably known of the impending trial, sought her out on the MacMillan Estate in an effort to gauge her ability and seen her fall down a flight of stairs in an excellent portrayal of a highly trained, professional, serial slasher. 

There was no skirting the never-killed-anyone issue under his scrutiny. It was in the eyes - and Honey had the eyes of a Carebear. 

Glancing at the hook in her hand she acknowledge that much, she was going to have to kill someone or be killed herself. This wasn’t like the Trapper’s trial, this was the deep end, and the pool was filled with molasses and steak knives.

She flattened herself weirdly against the cop car as she tried to scooch out from the corner she’d put herself in. The Shape didn’t move to block her, only turned his head to follow.

“So,” Honey said, still trying to get around him, “Looks like it’s you and me, big guy,” she gave a little fist pump, “you ready to murderfy some people? Happy Halloween and whatever, right?” 

The Shape turned with her as she managed to squeeze out from between him and the cruiser. Indifference marked in his silence. 

She took a few steps back from him, reveling in the comfort of the open street behind her, “I won’t ruin the whole lone wolf vibe you got going,” she said, bobbing her head and waving her hands in exchange for air quotes, “I’ll go check the generators over...uh...that way,” she pointed down the street. “We’ll meet up at the trial’s end and compare killings, sound good?”

No answer. She didn’t expect it anyway.

“Do you want to do a 1-2-3 BREAK or just go?”

Only breathing.

“Just go then? Alright go!”

Honey didn’t wait for him to respond, she knew he wouldn’t, not unless it was with extreme violence. She set down the indicated direction, doing her best to remain casual about the whole ordeal, but realizing halfway down the lane she had forgotten entirely how to walk normally.

She didn’t want to put her back to him, or her front for that matter, but beggars really couldn’t be choosers in a game of life and death, so she opted for distance, and did a weird sideways crab walk.

“Walking normal, walking normal,” she robotically willed herself down the street, swinging her arms a little too stiffly and marching along a little too awkwardly.

There had been no dressing up her first trial, decorated in splashes of blood and high expectations. She hadn’t lived up to them and suffered the disappointment of her mentor. He hadn’t regarded her with brutality though, not yet at least, offering her advice and even a place to lie down after. Humanity betrayed the monstrosity that made up a grim masquerade. 

That wasn’t the case with Myers.

His was a chill air that crawled up the spine, an empty street you couldn’t turn your back on, being shit-pantsingly scared of every closet, drape, and mirror, ears strained knowing you’d never hear him coming anyway. 

THAT was Michael Myers.

And Honey was stuck with him for the next - however long four murders took. Possibly five. 

She spied an open garage. A rusted old Chevrolet Nova sat empty and abandoned in the lot, rot creeping up the side molding with a large pallet resting against its rear bumper which did nothing at all for the deteriorating finish. She crept beneath the tilt-up canopy and nestled herself there within the shadows of the shelves and car, comforted by the small enclosure knowing there were really only two ways for him to come should he decide to stalk after her instead. 

Outside her temporary sanctuary she could hear the splutters of generators, the soft whirs of their gears and the frequent coughs of sparks from a misplaced bolt or tangled wire. It was somewhat comforting to know she was competing with others for his attention. With their focus on powering the generators around the trial grounds Honey knew she had more than enough leeway with her own actions. Even if he avoided her in his pursuit of a successful trial, at the end of it she knew it would only be them. 

The thought was not comforting at all. But the trial’s end was some time away and at the moment she was safe...well...she was currently not being stabbed. 

So that was a plus.

A rustling of leaves and quiet footsteps caught her attention as David crept in through the actual doorway. He hadn’t noticed her yet, focused on watching his back and making sure an actual threat wasn’t on his tail.

“David?” Honey asked.

Her voice seemed to startle him as he whipped about, brandishing his flashlight like a weapon. 

Honey flinched as the light blinded her and held up a hand to block it. She squinted between her fingers, “Holy hell, can you turn that off?”

“Honey?”

“Yeah,” Honey said.

”Motherfucker,” the manner in which he said it denoted a clear and exhausted irritation, “two trials in a row of this shit, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.“

“Sorry?”

“You got Meg killed, you know.” 

“Who’s Meg?”

“The girl you let the Trapper hang up with a bear trap snapped around her fucking foot. Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Dude,” Honey said defensively, “I’m like, five feet nothing, what the fuck do you think I could have done?”

“Don’t give me that shit. You were brought here same as us - and same as them,” he threw a hand out as if to indicate the invisible Shape, “and you sure as hell aren’t one of them. Which makes you one of us. You could have done anything else, but you stood there and let him kill her. We could have had a chance.”

“First of all, I don’t know what I am, because l JUST got here like - three hours ago and all you people keep doing is telling me I fucked something up without actually telling me what to do! And getting a silent killer to talk is like pulling fucking teeth. Second of all,” Honey scowled and pointed out a vindictive finger, “where were you tough guy? I didn’t see you trying to help.”

David shot her a nasty glare.

“Yeah,” Honey scoffed rather too haughtily, “so we both suck. Want to try again?”

“You’re kind of a bitch, you know that?” 

“And you’re kind of an asshole.“

David offered her a rough, but somewhat amused chuckle as he shoved past to peek out the garage door. “Nea says it’s The Shape, it’s never Haddonfield unless it’s him.”

“Who’s Nea.”

“The other girl I was with in our last trial.”

“With the beanie?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, it‘s The Shape,” Honey admitted. 

There was a pause between them as David assured the streets were clear, “Do you know where he went?”

“Nope,” said Honey, which was not at all comforting to either of them, “He was over by the cop car last I saw him, but I split off hella quick. Not exactly high up on my bucket list to go frolicking through Haddonfield with the Bogeyman.”

She watched him with his back to her, the cold steel of the hook between her knuckles nagging at some dark part of her. It would be so easy, so quick. 

“Why’d the Entity take you anyway?” David asked after a minute.

“I honestly think She thought I was someone else,” Honey said, “that or everyone’s right and I’m not supposed to actually BE here...you know, on the killing-people side of things.”

The street was just as quiet as she remembered it, peaceful almost if you could forget the Boogeyman was somewhere out there waiting to kill you. 

“So what did you do?” He asked.

“What do you mean? Like illegally?”

“No, generally.”

“Well I was a secretary,” Honey said, “nothing really exciting. “I made Excel sheets, answered phones, told people to ‘Please wait, Mr. Roman will be with you shortly.’ Other than that - nothing really. Computer, phone, TV, the usual Saturday night. I’m real sorry about your friend.”

“She’s not my friend,” said David with some dark inflection Honey couldn’t place.

“If she’s not your friend, why are you all shit mad?”

“Because one less person means one less chance we’re getting out of here alive. Just because we’ve gone through these trials before doesn’t mean you get used to dying.”

“That’s...fair. Is she uh ... here?”

“No. Bill took her place.”

“Cool, cool,” Honey nodded, then added, “who’s Bill?”

Somewhere down the street echoed a bloodcurdling scream.

“Look, you want to know everyone, come visit the campfire, I’m not doing this here with you again.“

“That’s fair,” Honey said, “how do I get to your campsite?”

“It’s always just beyond the trial grounds,” he said. He poked his head out the garage one more time, straining his eyes to try and see where the sound might have come from. For a moment they stood in absolute silence, only the distant chatter from the abandoned cruiser giving life to dark streets. Then, David’s demeanor seemed to shift and not so unsuspiciously.

“That’s Nea,” he said, “I think he’s hung her up down the street. I can’t get to her...but you. You think you can?”

“Uh...” Honey said, “am I supposed to do that?” 

“He can kill us,” David said, “but he can’t kill you. It’s a part of the rules or some shit.” 

“I feel like you’re just setting me up here.”

“Listen kid, you want to help, right?”

“Definitely feeling like a set up.”

“Just go over there and pull her off the hook. You don’t have to do anything else.”

“Umm...” Honey said and ultimately shrugged anyway, “alright, I guess.”

“Good,” said David, “and try to keep him busy if you see him. I’m going to fix the generator upstairs.” 

“You want me,” Honey said, pointing to herself, “to quote, ‘keep him busy?’ Him being Michael Myers? You want me to keep HIM busy?”

“Think you can handle that?” David asked as he crept out of the garage.

“Uh? No?” Honey balked.

“You’ll be fine,” David assured once more, “Like I said, he can’t hurt you.”

Honey squinted at his back, “If I get stabbed,” she said, “I am so coming right back here and shoving this hook so far up your ass.”

David chuckled and disappeared somewhere around the corner, leaving Honey to fulfill an impossible request.

“Well,” she said to herself, “what can go wrong?”


	13. Chapter 13

There was tension in the air like Honey had never felt before, swathed in the idle songs of a crisp ‘October’ night where even the leaves that skittered over the pavement did so in a hushed whisper. 

Shadows stretched along the pavement after her, their creeping fingers scratching at the heels of her boots. Their seduction a tired bid, unable to lure her into that violent embrace, even as they offered David up to her, turned his back and placed the hook within her hands. She would try to tell herself he was much too strong, much too big, a losing fight no doubt even if she got the drop on him, but it was all bullshit. 

She was afraid and she was kind. 

’That will change,’ promised the fog.  
And maybe it would, but not right then, and not right now. 

She padded down the sidewalk, brow furrowed in annoyance as the whispers nagged and begged, teased and promised. It did nothing to sway her beat, still determined to help David’s not-friend at the expense of playing tag with a steak knife.

It didn’t take long to find her. She was crumpled in the street stewing in her own blood. Honey couldn’t tell how many times she’d been stabbed through the plume of crimson that bloomed over her chest, but it was certainly enough to spill her insides to the outsides. 

She visibly recoiled from the scene, slapping a hand over her nose and mouth. “Oh crap,” she said.

Somewhere behind her a generator chugged to life.

It was David. She could see the house behind her flicker to life, dark shadows chased away by a homely glow. It was almost inviting, until it wasn’t. The Shape stood in the peel of black that curled about the sidewalk, his eyes turned up to the very same house from dark mists and whispering fog, watching patiently as David crept out in his success. 

This wasn’t David’s first trial, or his second for that matter, he was experienced, he knew what lured the wolves from their dens and the sounds that followed them in the voice of the crows. He didn’t wait to see their teeth. He quietly climbing out of the second story window and onto the porch awning. 

Honey had initially found this maneuver to be a bit bizarre. He had the safety of an entire house at his back, doors and all the locks that came with them. Yet he opted for danger and not only for the thrill, but an obvious purpose. Then it hit her, despite all the hinderances he could put between himself and The Shape, he’d still need to get downstairs. Rather than bottleneck himself on the butcher’s block, he had climbed onto the roof, squatted and waited. 

The generator’s idle chugging was sure to attract some unwanted attention, a clear demarcation to his presence within the suburbs. An easy target and he’d be right, because The Shape was still standing there in darkness, looking up at David’s growing confidence. 

It was a game of patience between the two. David waited in silence and so did The Shape. It was only lucky that Honey had spotted him first, catching just the edge of his sleeve illuminated by the red and blue lights that cut through the thicket of Hackberry leaves. 

With his stillness, he was invisible.

David must not have seen him and accepted whatever sliver of safety he’d been granted. He crept to the awning’s ledge and before he leapt to the soft spring lawn below, took one final look around.

He spotted Honey first and shrugged as if to ask ‘What happened?’

Honey mimed getting stabbed several times and threw in some blood spray jazz hands to really drive home the point. 

David nodded back.  
He waved a hand over his face like a WWE superstar. 

Honey figured he meant to ask ‘What about Myers?’

Her eyes flicked over to the shadows, then back up to David. She shrugged and signed, ‘I don’t know,’ out of habit and self preservation.

He seemed to accept this and leapt down from his perch. 

Honey instinctively looked back towards the Hackberry branches that veiled The Shape, realizing with a sink of her stomach that he wasn’t there any longer.

David crossed through the yard, vaulted over the white picket fence and out into the street. “You found Nea?” He asked.

“Yeah, she’s super dead,” Honey said, “sorry.”

David looked irritated, shifted uncomfortably before her and glanced around, “Son of a bitch,” he hissed. “What happened?”

“She wasn’t on a hook. It looked like he stabbed her about fifty times.”

“Son of a bitch,” he repeated. “And The Shape?”

“I think he was hanging out in the trees over that way,” she pointed, “but he disappeared when I looked away.”

David followed the point of her finger, the police lights dancing over their faces illuminated the shadows just beyond the trees, speckling the ground with the silhouette of leaves. Empty sidewalks. Nothing more.

He looked back at Honey and thought for a moment, “Go check it out.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Like I said. He can’t hurt you. If you see him, just make a noise.” 

“Yeah? I’ll just shout ‘fuck you’ real loud.”

It was becoming increasingly apparent just how much of a friend this guy was. Honey could understand it though, and if it were true, then she was in a very unique position. Still, she wasn’t too keen on the whole bait idea and she wondered if maybe that had been his play this whole time, not just with her, but his own teammates. 

“Look, I don’t care what you say, because I have a hard time believing Michael Myers WON’T stab me given the chance. And as far as that Entity is concerned, I’m supposed to be helping HIM murder YOU. I helped you out, I found your friend. But you want to find him? Do it yourself.”

David chuckled, “At least you’ve got some spine.”

“Keep it up, I’ll put my hook in yours,” Honey replied.

“Cute,” David said and pinched her chin between his fingers, “but I know killers - and you’re not one.”

Honey jerked her chin from his grasp, “fuck you,” she said pointedly, “have fun getting stabbed.” She stepped back from him, her dark eyes betraying the shadow that lingered just over his shoulder, muzzled breathing just soft enough to go unnoticed. 

David smirked, as if he’d already won, key in hatch homeward bound. He enjoyed the rise he got out of her, she could see it in the way his eyes lit up, the dangerous smirk that tilted his lips. It would have frightened her deeply if it weren’t for the man standing behind him, harsh shadows cut to the worn edges of his mask, the Devil in his own eyes. 

It was in her silence that David finally noticed and that vicious grin slipped from his face, replaced with abject horror as time seemed to slow to a crawl in turning to meet his fate. There behind him stood The Shape, dressed in Nea’s blood.

He didn’t hesitate, snapping to life when David’s eyes met his. He reached forward in an instant, hands latching about the scrapper’s throat and squeezing hard. Real hard.

“Fu-“ his curses grew hoarse, strangled quite literally in the larger man’s grip. His eyes bulged, face turned red as he struggled to breath. He slapped at the hands fixed to his throat, balled his hands into fists and beat at his wrists, desperate to break his hold.

The Shape was resilient though, unfettered by the assault, only squeezing harder.

Honey had every opportunity in the world to run or even help. But didn’t, watching as David desperately tried to curse their names on what lingering breath he had, as if he might have deserved such a fate. 

She felt a touch of guilt. 

His fingers bit into The Shape’s palms, peeled them back just enough to suck in a breath of air, to spit out curses Honey had never heard strung together so creatively while his other slapped and groped at the Bogeyman’s face until he finally grabbed a hold of that ghostly mask. 

He yanked hard and snatched the mask right off him, brandished it like a trophy, shouted something assanine even as The Shape dropped him. 

He was older than Honey imagined, sixties maybe with a silver beard, and deep scar creased over a frosted eye, jaw set in a firm line that betrayed no emotion. Terrifying even without his mask. 

He hesitated, not quite a recoil and not quite a shock, more so a pause of pissed of extension, marked in the deep lines of his face. Even the Entity shuddered in his hate.

David knew he’d fucked up, but he didn’t care, in fact he welcomed this new found vulnerability. Naked and afraid. Even grounds. He already had the shovel, so he dug in deeper. 

“What? You want this? Your precious mask?” He put some distance between himself and The Shape, looked at the mask in his hand, then tossed it down the street. “Fuck you!“

It landed with a ‘flupop’ just behind Honey.

She looked down at it.

“Piece of shit,” he spit at the ground before The Shape’s feet. “You and your bitch friend.”

She looked up at David’s back and physically felt something snap. She wasn’t sure what or why, she’d been teased before, been called a bitch, and every other nasty word by inconvenienced clients. These things were nothing new, but something about that mask at her feet did it, broke the last straw perched neatly on her back - and suddenly she was moving towards him. 

The Shape noticed, even waited, as if he had any interest to spare. She reached David’s back, planted her right foot, closed her eyes, and swung hard.

Moonlight caught on the edge of her hook, curling over the smooth c shaped blade and down its handle. It sunk into his back like it belonged there.

He let out a shriek and buckled to the pain, threw his hands back and groped for purchase, but couldn’t quite reach the deadly itch.

“Don’t. Be. Fucking. Rude.” She emphasized each word with a nudge against the hook. It slipped between his ribs with a silent pop, burying deeper into the knit of muscle and tissue that protected softer organs.

He was shouting now, incoherent words, gasping with foam in his mouth and sweat on his brow. 

The hook punctured his lung and he paused, letting out a wheeze that rattled in his chest. 

Blood bubbled in his throat, death’s cold sudor slickened his fingers and forbid him freedom from his fate as they slipped over the smooth curves of Honey’s hook.

“Oh god, oh god,” Honey was saying as she pit her weight against his, her own fingers tightening about the handle of her blade, “please just die.”

Killing someone wasn’t like the movies at all. It was slow and it was excruciating and it was hard. He had survived the hands of the Bogeyman, burdened the blow of her hook, collapsed a lung to their conflict, and still he opposed them, reaching for the offending weapon, swatting at the air behind him and only able to tousle Honey’s dark brown curls.

Like a toddler amidst a deadly tantrum, he tired himself out, falling to his knees first, then to his chest. The pavement scraped the skin under his chin, his teeth clicked together loud enough for Honey to hear. She grit her own in response, squeezed her eyes shut tighter as David rasped beneath her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and he might as well have been.

Moments passed.

Honey’s white knuckle grip was unrelenting even when she saw the steam rising from his body, knowing without a doubt, even though she’d never killed anyone, nor seen anyone die, that he was dead.

Her whole body was shaking, scared to let go, as if that gesture alone would concrete the reality of the moment. Her hands slipped down the smooth handle of the hook until they met blood, long curled bangs sweeping over her vision as she bowed over him. She exhaled a breath she’d been holding for far too long, then sat back on his hips. She felt like wet spaghetti and moved like it too when she tried to get up. 

She stumbled over him and snatched the mask up from the street, keeping her gaze down as she approached The Shape, offering him not only the privacy of his mask, but the respect of her aversion. 

They stood there in silence for just a moment, offering brandished in kindness as Honey tried to catch her breath and hoped he might not use the time to steal the rest from her. 

The mask slipped from her fingers.

He was surprisingly gentle when he took it from her, thumbs tracing almost lovingly over the lines of the mouth before bringing it up and over his face

She looked up at him.  
He looked down at her.  
And a silent understanding was met.

She exhaled an exhausted breath and turned her back on him with greater ease than she had at the start of the trial. She stepped back around David’s corpse and grabbed the hook’s handle, planted her foot on his back and pulled. It came free with a sickening ‘squealch’ and ‘crack!’ as bone parted in its wake, splashing blood and bees over the pavement.

She looked back to The Shape and offered a weak thumbs-up.

He stared a moment longer, then turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( Heya guys, I started updating some of the chapters with the doodles I've done for Honey! Chapter 1, 11, and 13 now include artwork. Future chapters may also see artwork within their pages :D ) 
> 
>   
> 

There was a palpable shift in the air, it hummed like the bees, a dancing crescendo of fear that swam along the breeze. Honey could hear it like a dull lullaby gently whispered over her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed them before, how many of them had clung to her coat and crawled up her cheek, the soft, fuzzy bodies of a hundred bees or more lovingly caressed to her warmth. 

They didn’t bother her and even if they had she’d have done nothing different. 

Experience bred patience. Besides, this almost felt natural. Which was certainly a bizarre sentiment to have, as Honey didn’t make a habit of being covered in this many bees.

_‘Do you understand now?’_

The voice belonged to neither fog nor bogeyman, distant and far away like a memory she never had.

Honey turned her wrist over, watching the bees crawl along her knuckles and down the smooth shapes of the hook. 

_‘Who you are.’_

In all that time she hadn’t much moved from her spot, still breathing heavy as if she’d run a five mile marathon in moon shoes. 

David’s body had been claimed sometime ago by the curl of spider like appendages made of shadow and mist. They left nothing behind but a black mark on the pavement, like it had never happened at all. And she could almost believe it didn’t- if only the blood on her hook and shoes didn’t betray such fairytales.

Her emotions were at odds, crossing blades as morality cut ribbons of guilt into her, while logic argued over a perfect phalanx that death was only temporary. This realm existed outside that of her own and as such was not confined to the rules of Honey’s reality. It was one, big macabre Groundhog Day, repeating itself over and over again in perverse trials where killers stalked their prey and shed their blood to a web of black mist. 

_‘What you are meant to be.’_

Honey clutched her hook tightly.

If she wasn’t in the proverbial shit then - she certainly was now. At least she’d solidified her place among the wolves. 

_‘Say my name - become immortal.’_

A pair of crows squawked and fluttered off. The Entity chuckled like thunder. The mist grew silent, as mist should be, and October regained its voice in the crisp bristling of trees. The street lamps buzzed and the generators rattled, golden spotlights cast bubbles of normality upon the world, as if she were still only just on her way home. Another ten minutes and she’d be flopping down on her bed with Netflix and a soda wondering why she couldn’t fall asleep until four a.m.

A snap of twigs stole her attention from the distraction of her own self reflection. She straightened up and stared into the darkness. There wasn’t much to see there past the parked cars and suburbian landscaping. Prickly bushes, crooked shade trees, picket fences, and jack-o-lanterns. The longer she looked, the more their silhouettes contorted into one another, until she wasn’t even sure what she was looking at anymore. 

“I can see you,” Honey lied, unable to see anyone. 

A howl echoed through the street, another victim, a man it sounded like, snatched up from hiding. 

Out of reflex Honey turned to look, granting a moment’s grace of safety for the other survivor crouched behind the bushes. The girl booked it, ran like her life depended on it, which it did, and left all manner of distress in her wake.

Honey whipped about and sprung into action. “Hey!” She shouted and gave chase, “oh my God, stop running, I’m super out of shape,” she exclaimed, still breathless from her assault on the late David King. 

This girl was much smaller than him, dark skin and tight curls, a flattering soft pink button up with not so flattering bloodstains. 

She glanced back and squeaked a terrified sound, vaulting over the fence gate and stumbling along into the backyard.

Honey slowed to a halt at the gate. No way in Hell was she making it over that. She leaned over and fiddled with the latch until the door swung open, then continued on after the frightened girl.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said to the clang of the gate door closing.

“You killed him,” sobbed the girl, “you killed David.”

“Yeah, well, David was being a dick.”

“That’s fair,” said the girl, “but I’m not stopping.”

“What’s your name?”

“Claudette,” said the woman, disturbing a sleepy pair of crows, tremors running all down her body.

“Hi Claudette, I’m Honey.”

They continued through the overgrown yards, weaving between fences and lawn ornaments. Claudette didn’t let up, leaping another barrier and skirting around a corner. Honey had almost caught up to her at the corner, was just about in arm’s reach when something hard came crashing down on her. She stumbled back in shock, recognizing a feebly crafted pallet all splinters and cheap paint. Her shoulder stung from the impact while her brain slowly tried to put together the sequence of events that had just befallen her.

“Ow!” Honey winced, “did you - did you just drop a pallet on me?”

“You killed David,” Claudette repeated from the other side, narrowing her gaze on the other woman and all her bees.

“Okay, well I guess we’re even then.”

“That is NOT even!”

“Chalk and cheese,” Honey rubbed her shoulder, “we’ll call it halfsies.”

”What? No!” Claudette pointed, “that’s not even close to half, you can’t just - just say that. Like you didn’t just - just kill him.” 

“Well…I did,” Honey said with a playful grimace, “besides, it’s not like I killed him dead. It was more of a temporary death, a diet killing - right?” 

“That-that’s not the point!”

Honey shifted around the pallet only to have Claudette clamber over to the other side, keeping herself well out of range of Honey’s hook.

“Ok, this is just stupid,” Honey said, trying to come back around one more time, just for Claudette to do the same old thing.

“Stop doing that!”

“And let you kill me,” Claudette said, “No way.”

Honey rolled her eyes, “I told you, I’m not going to kill you.” 

“Well,” Claudette said, “what do you want then?”

“Kind of want to know what’s going on. I keep getting little bits out of everyone, but like I told David, none of the guys I’ve met are big talkers. So it’s been a lot of trial and error. Emphasis on error.”

Claudette contemplated this for a long moment, then repeated her name very carefully, “Honey,” she said, “like the bees? Is that why you’re called that?” She pointed to the bees that crawled over Honey’s neck and knuckles.

“No actually,” Honey chuckled, “I would say coincidence, but I think my parents did it on purpose. Honey is my name.”

“So what do they call you?” She asked, indicating with a sweeping gesture the villains that lurked within the Entity’s realm. 

_‘Say my name.’_

This was it, she could reinvent herself right then and right now. She could pick a name, any name, could become a monster, just like the others, something these survivors could talk about around the campfire.

The Trapper, The Shape, The Ghostface. Classic titles, terrifying without even trying. It didn’t have to be detailed, it didn’t even have to be hers. 

Did she even want that?

“If I tell you, are you going to run away?” 

“I don’t know,” said Claudette, “that depends.” 

Honey sighed, “I guess then… they would call me - _the Candyman._ ”

“Candyman?” Claudette furrowed her brow, “I’ve heard that name before. It’s a game, right. Like Bloody Mary?”

“Yeah, you say his name three times...or five, I don’t remember, they usually have a rhyme, anyway, say his name a bunch of times in front of a mirror and he shows up to kill you. No clue why people would even play a game like that.”

“He?” 

“I’m not THE Candyman, I’m like … little ‘the’ Candyman. I’m a McKeever, Daniel Robitaille was my great grandfather. If I’m being honest, I think your spider friend up there got us a little mixed up.”

“But the bees...David…” 

“Yeah, all new territory here for me too.”

Claudette squinted at her, “What about The Shape?” 

“What about him? He’s terrifying as all Hell.”

Claudette giggled.

“David tried to get me to go be his lookout-”

“Oh no,” said Claudette, “no, don’t do that.” 

“That’s what I said! He told me there’s this rule that us, I guess, Killers can’t attack one another.” 

“That’s not true,” Claudette said.

“I KNEW it!” 

“Shh!”

“Sorry,” Honey said and lowered her voice, “Anyway, I guess you kind of saw the fallout to that. We argued, he called me some names, I stabbed him in the back,” she shrugged.

“You really...aren’t a killer, are you?” Claudette asked with an inquisitive tilt of the chin.

“Nope.”

Claudette took a moment to investigate her surroundings, carefully scrutinizing the shadows to assert her own safety in the moment, realizing she hadn’t heard Bill for quite some time now. 

“Ok,” she said, “Real quick. From what I understand, this realm belongs to Her,” she pointed up to the sky, “She brings us here, puts us in these trials to feed on our suffering. The more we suffer, the stronger she becomes, but the minute we stop serving a purpose we’re dropped into some kind of … dark and empty place. Killers too.”

“So,” Honey asked, “why am I here?” 

“I don’t know,” Claudette said sadly, “I’m really sorry, but I don’t think She messed up.”

“Which means I have to kill you then, don’t I?” 

“You have to at least try,” Claudette admitted. 

“You’re going to run now aren’t you?” 

Claudette offered a small smile.


	15. Chapter 15

Claudette ran.  
Honey followed.

There was something innately childish and almost innocent in the way they chased each other through the yards; Laughing and hollering over the sounds of their boots on the grass, as if getting caught didn’t mean being hung up on a hook for some sky-spider fast food. 

“So what happens next?” Honey asked with no intention of catching up, “I catch you and - that’s it? How do you win? Is that even the right word?”

Claudette rounded about another building, scurried between the hedges and pounded out into the street.

“Without power to the gates,” Claudette huffed, her voice bouncing with every step, “I either die or find another way out.”

“Another way out? Like what?” Honey tripped over the curb and recovered gracelessly behind her quarry.

Claudette pumped a bit more energy into her step as she weaved between idle traffic, cars abandoned to the street as a minor hinderance to both women. She spun around the back bumper of an unsightly green Buick Riviera, before doubling back, and sliding over its hood like she was in the Dukes of Hazard. 

“There’s a hatch.”

Honey slammed into the car’s bumper, unable to veer off quick enough. She let out a pained ‘oof,’ before regaining her composure and redirecting her chase. 

“A hatch?”

“Yes, like a bunker.” 

“Where does it go?”

“Out,” said Claudette, “it’s hard to explain. It’s full of black fog and it’s cold, real cold. It feels like you’re falling forever and then - you’re not.”

She looped Honey around another car, the two of them talking over it as they played their dangerous game of ring-around-the-rosie.

“I’ll have to look out for that,” said Honey.

“Please don’t,” Claudette said with a crooked grin. 

Honey chuckled.

Claudette allowed herself to laugh along with her, not noticing the deep and menacing shadow that stretched across the pavement after her. 

Honey grew awful quiet real quick, surprised to see The Shape just behind her new friend, as if she’d forgotten entirely to whom this trial had firstly belonged. 

“Uhuboy,” Honey grimaced. 

Claudette noticed the drop in her expression, turned about and shrieked. This was the definition of a rock and a hard place, stuck between two killers and a car. The fog tittered to the hopelessness of her situation, mocked her in the mists and fed on her despair.

Honey, however, thought it an unfair advantage. 

She clambered up onto the roof of the car and arched back her hook. Right as The Shape swung out at Claudette, Honey pitched forward. The loop of her hook wrapped neatly around his wrist, carrying his swing downward until the blade of her hook buried into the passenger side door and pinned his hand free of harm.

“Whoops,” Honey said insincerely.

Claudette ran.

The Shape yanked his hand free with little effort, causing Honey to jerk forward and come tumbling down onto the unforgiving pavement.

Stars burst before her eyes, raining down on her like glitter. For a moment she thought The Shape might take the opportunity to remove her from the competition, but he surprised her once more as he overpassed her for the fleeing Claudette. 

She rolled over onto her knees and got up. 

The fog recoiled from her with a hiss.

“Oh, you’ll get over it,” Honey said and gave it a swat. 

She got up to her feet and took off after the pair.


	16. Chapter 16

There it was, the ticket out. 

The open hatch sang to Claudette, tempted her on the curl of wispy fingers of fog, and she floated towards it like a cartoon. 

She could hear him behind her, the measured footsteps that threatened her shadow, never quickened, restrained and confident. Something about that made him all the more terrifying. It didn’t matter how fast she ran, he’d always catch up.

But today, her eyes fixed on the open hatch, today she had a chance, just in reach, she only had to make it a few more feet.

She clung to the sliver of hope, despite all the trials before that had put her at The Shape’s mercy. No on had ever survived, not a single one of them. 

She could hear him breathing now, closer than before, so much closer. Her heart pounded in her ears and then she felt it, the cold steel of his blade slicing across her shoulder. 

She fell hard.

Her elbows caught her fall with an explosion of pain. The skin split and blood splattered over the pavement. She grit her teeth and wailed at the assault, tears in her eyes as the fog taunted her from the safety of a hatch just out of reach. 

Close, but no cigar as they say.

A heavy boot came down hard on her back, pinning her there to the ground. She wheezed, clawing desperately at the ground in some desperate bid to free herself. With all his weight atop her, she never would. 

His boots creaked as he bent down to grab her up by the back of her waistband. The world spun awkwardly about as he hoisted her onto his shoulder. 

Blood trickled down from the wounds of her elbows leaving small dots along the ground as The Shape carried her off from salvation. 

That’s when she saw Honey.

She was bounding across the street after them, looking just as confused as Claudette. 

_‘She’s not going to...?’_ She knew that look in Honey’s eyes, Ash often had the very same look, she was about to do something stupid. _'She is.'_

There was no time to question why, if Honey was looking to help her, she needed to do everything she could to break free the vice grip around her hips. So she struggled, fought at The Shape’s hold and wiggled like her life depended on it.

Honey didn’t slow, gaining on the two with surprising speed until she was right on their heels and then - she leapt. 

She threw herself into The Shape’s back, wrapping her arms around his core like some backyard wrestler. 

He didn’t budge.  
Not even an inch.  
And Honey was left holding him in an awkward kind of hug. 

Claudette broke free, scrambled to catch her footing on the way down and caught Honey’s gaze in the briefest of moments before fleeing. 

“Thanks, Honey,” she breathed.

“Don’t mention it,” Honey said.

The Shape watched as Claudette fled for the hatch, leaping down into the waiting abyss and marking his first ever loss within the Entity’s trials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 


	17. Chapter 17

Honey hit his back like a snowball hits a brick wall.

It was jarring. All the breath left her in the collision, her bones rattled, her muscles ached, and The Shape - didn’t budge an inch. 

On the list of things she didn’t think through, this was number one.

Her arms were still linked about his waist, tightly hugging him to her chest as Claudette wiggled free his own grip and fled to freedom with a thank-you on her lips. Honey accepted it in all her fears, unwilling to release Myers for all the same reasons she’d been unwilling to watch herself murder David, not quite prepared to face the consequences of her failure and his loss. 

He wasn’t going to be happy, that was an easy supposition. He was never happy.  
Maybe if she was quick enough, though, she could slip into that inky black sanctuary and find some freedom from this whole place alongside Claudette.

As if he too had not only realized this, but expected it, The Shape flipped the hatch with a stomp of his boot, effectively locking her out of whatever safety she’d hoped to find within its empty hold.

“Crap,” Honey muttered to herself.

The Shape stood still for a moment longer, allowing the moment to weigh even heavier upon the girl’s shoulders before he finally looked down at her. 

Honey could feel his gaze upon her like fire. It was full of hate. Whatever kindred feelings had been shared between them in the death of another had all been washed away with the life of the escaped. Never had another killer been so bold as to step between him and his victims, never had one so royally fucked a trial beneath the Entity’s stain like she had. His grip tightened about the stem of his blade, the rubber of the handle creaking with his enmity.

Slowly, Honey released him, opening her arms up and stepping back a comfortable distance. She recognized the look in his eye, the measured straightening of his shoulders, each subtle motion a new letter on the board of ‘Y— F-ck-d -p.’

She took another step back and bought a vowel.

“Oh.”

A glint of light danced along the blade’s edge, capturing her essence in its bloody reflection. Her gaze snapped back up to him and she quickly stammered out a, “Now hold on a second-” like she had anything to follow it up with.

She paused, realized this, and admitted, “Okay, I have no excuse.” 

He forced her back another step, his approach slow, but imposing.

Honey glanced down at her hands and all the bees that had congregated there upon her sleeves and in the fur of her coat. Then she looked back up at The Shape. 

She couldn’t fight him, that was clear, but she wasn’t completely hopeless against him either. She had heard the stories all through her youth, knew the powers that possessed her grandfather and brought fear to every household in Chicago. If she were to live his legacy, then certainly she had been bestowed more than just a heirloom coat and hook. What other reason would the Entity bring her here if not for that? 

She looked down at her hands again and squinted. Of course.  
If she could not find her escape on the reliance of a bloody hook - then maybe she could rely on THEM.

She threw up her hands, she wiggled her fingers, and put all of her confidence into the proclamation, “Go bees!”

The bees did not go, because they were bees and did not understand her.

“Oh come on,” she groaned, “do something. Swarm! Sting!” 

They did neither swarm, nor sting.

The Shape tilted his head to the side.

She shook her sleeves.  
No matter how much she tried to coax them into attacking, they wouldn’t, and remained cozily tucked about her collar and cuffs. 

The Shape stepped forward.

“Fuck,” she said.

She took a few extra steps from him before pivoting on her heel and running in the opposite direction, not knowing where she would be running to, or what safety she could hope to find, but knowing of all places she wanted to be, in front of him was not one of them.

“Useless, stupid bees,” she grumbled, “what’s the point of being The Candyman if I can’t even do Candyman things, are you listening to me?” She asked, shaking her sleeves.

The bees bumbled about cheerily ignoring her frustration.

“When we get out of here,” she promised them, “I’m going to super-soaker you with RAID. You hear me? A whole goddamn super-soaker!” 

They buzzed in response, like a toddler happy to hear noise.

The world darkened around her as The Shape gained on her in his patient pursuit. His shadow preceded him, swallowing every hopeful footstep that carried her down the street as she cursed the bees, cursed David, and cursed herself most of all. 

But as they say, there’s no sense crying over spilled milk. Or blood for that matter. Actions have consequences, this one just so happened to be at the hands of the Bogeyman and he wasn’t just going to put her gameboy up on-top of the fridge. 

Maybe if she looped around a few cars and bushes she could throw herself at the postern. The tip of her hook was just thin enough to slot into the crimp of the hatch. With the right angle and enough force, she might be able to snap it open. 

She just had to outwit the coyote on her heels.

She glanced back. The street seemed impossibly long and impossibly dark behind him, but the hatch was still there, glittering beneath the street lamps in its taunting stillness. It was possible, in the same way it was possible to be drafted into the NFL, unlikely but with just a dash of chance. It was enough to convince her to try, after all, there wasn’t much else of an idea coming to the forefront of her mind.

Looking back for far too long was an unrecommended choice of action. Honey slammed into the grill of a parked Chevrolet C10. It resounded with a hollow twang and threw the poor girl on her ass. She bounced off of it in a daze, staring at its headlights as her brain tried to catch up with the sudden stop to her momentum until it finally announced ‘Oh! A car!’ at the ping of an internal light-bulb. 

She attempted to get up, but her legs refused to support her, her entire body still reverberating with the vibrations of the impact. The Shape hooked his fingers into the fabric of her coat, wrapping the back of her collar up in a fist as he lifted her up off the ground.

Honey watched the ground fall away from her in a dizzying swirl, the Bogeyman’s breath at her back. That blade peeked out amongst the lamp light one more time, threatening whatever passed for her life within this god-creature’s game. He turned her around to face him and the mist drank in her fear.

She thought about kicking him, slapping at his face, screaming, and shouting like every other horror movie victim. But it was a useless effort, so showed David and so showed all the movies that predecessed him. So she threw her arms up in defeat - and allowed herself to slip completely out of her coat.

The Shape paused for a moment, clutching an empty jacket covered in bees and blood. 

Honey twirled about his legs like the world’s smallest quarterback and threw herself into the pavement, “That’s an heirloom,” she called over her shoulder, “so don’t ruin it!”

He dropped her coat. 

She beat down the street with determined steps and reached the hatch. With a swing of her hook she buried its blade into the sunken frame and yanked hard. It didn’t give. 

The Shape gained on her.

She planted her foot into the crook of her blade and gave an even harder shove.The hatch sucked in a long, deep breath as the hook wedged its way inside. Finally, it gasped and popped open, inky black tendrils crawling out from its depths. With one last look to Myers, Honey offered a salute, and dropped herself into that uncaring abyss.


	18. Chapter 18

The hatch was an empty black ocean, sinking down to incredible depths, where no arrow of light could ever hope to pierce. She lost count of how long she had been falling for and thought instead that maybe she had stopped some time ago. 

No air passed beneath her wings, no whistle in her ear, and no anchor dropped within her stomach. Wherever she had been going had either come or gone. Like Alice she hung there in an infinite darkness, no up or down, just there. 

She whistled to hear her echo, but it never responded and left her even more so alone. Until all at once she fell very fast and very hard. Light exploded outward from the boundless hollow and threw her up like an offending piece of meat. She slammed down into the couch she’d fallen asleep on, bounced up, and out onto the floor. 

She groaned a long, pained sound, arms tightly tucked to her chest as every bit of her ached. She felt like she’d been hit by a truck, which was part way true. 

Slowly she forced herself to sit up, which was nothing at all what her body wanted to do. She looked down at herself, black pants tucked into dirty work boots, halter top and long black gloves. Bruises had already started to decorate her exposed skin, no longer wrapped up in a big, comfortable, bee infested coat.

Hopefully Myers would be kind enough to return it.

She planted a hand firmly upon her knee and stood up. Wisps of tangled brown hair curled about her forehead and cheeks, no longer neatly brushed or bound. She used her own self as leverage and stood up, idly brushing the wayward strands from her face as she did.

“Trapper?” She asked.

He wasn’t on the couch where she’d left him, but the blanket was, neatly folded now and draped over the back as if to make the place a little more homey. 

“Trapper?” She paused and listened intently to the sounds of the old MacMillan house. She thought for a moment he might have been inducted to his own trial, but the bear traps by the door suggested otherwise.

She quietly padded to the door.   
He was standing on the porch, talking with another silhouette of a person she didn’t recognize. Not that she had many people to recognize.

Honey pulled open the door. 

“I’m back.”

“Where’s your coat?” The Trapper asked.

“Myers is borrowing it,” she said.

The Trapper quirked a brow at her.

Honey waved it off, “Who’s your friend?” She asked, brushing her hands down over her hips and into her pockets.

“This is Susie,” the Trapper said with a half caring gesture of the hand, “she’s one of Legion’s.”

The girl was just about her height tucked up in a hoodie a little too big for her. Her pink hair spilled out from the hood and onto her shoulders, framing a delicate face quivering with nerves. She held out her hand.

Honey took it with a smile and shook.

“Nice to meet you, I’m-“

“You’re Honey McKeever,” said Susie, “Evan was telling me about you.”

“Oh?” She directed a cheeky smirk to the Trapper. “Is that right, Evan?”

The Trapper’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I spoke with Susie during your trial. I thought you‘d be more comfortable staying with her,” said the Trapper reaching for the door, “you can bother her between your trials.”

“Are you dumping me on someone else?” Honey asked.

“It’s ok, really,” said Susie, “I don’t mind.”

The Trapper offered a lasting glance of narrowed eyes as if it might goad Honey on to agree with his decision before allowing the door to swing shut behind him, leaving Honey and Susie out on the porch.

For a long moment they shared an awkward silence, then Susie piped up in an effort to stave off the weirdness between new friends. 

“So, Honey...How many trials have you been called to?”

“Uh, only two?” Honey said, slowly redirecting her attention to Susie.

“Who were you with?”

“Well, first one was with the big guy,” Honey said gesturing over her shoulder with a jerk of her thumb, “second one was with Myers.”

“The Shape?” Susie asked, “no way! No one has ever trialed with him.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky you is right. I can’t believe you survived!” 

“Me either,” said Honey, “he was not happy when one of the girls escaped.”

Susie’s mouth hung open, “What?”

“Yeah.”

“Someone escaped?”

“Yeah?”

“No one has EVER gotten away from him.”

Honey blinked, “Well, first time for everything, right?”

“I guess,” Susie said, unconvinced.

“So, How long have you been here?” Honey asked.

“A while,” Susie said, fiddling with her sleeves.

“And how long have you and the Trapper been friends?”

“Oh, we’re not really, uh, friends. He was my first, just like you,” Susie said, then jumped and quickly waved her hands as she corrected, “not like that, I mean trial! He led me in my first trial.”

Honey laughed. 

“Evan’s nice, but w-we don’t really hang out,” she said, doing her best to tame the blush that crept up on her cheeks, “he’s kind of a loner. A lot of the guys are. But I think he’s just worried about you feeling safe,” she chuckled a sad sound, like safe was something they could ever actually hope to feel.

“Kind of counter intuitive when all of you guys are murderers” Honey said with an amused snort.

“Yeah, but not all of us enjoy it,” Susie said. 

“And you don’t?”

“Not really,” she said, “The first time I ever killed someone...it was awful. I didn’t even want to do it, but my friends...” she shook her head, “doesn’t matter, the point is...if you stay with me, you don’t have to worry about anyone hanging over you with a knife while you sleep.”

“Thanks,” Honey said, “but I’m not really worried about it.”

“Are you sure?” Susie asked, “because it’s no problem at all.”

“I appreciate it. If I change my mind, you’ll be first to know.”

Susie smiled, “Alright,” she wrang her shirt sleeves in her fists, “well, you guys should come by some time anyway,” she waved her hands out, letting the loose ends of her sleeves flap over her hands, “Jed likes to host these little get togethers. I don’t see a lot of the other girls there, it’d be cool to have someone else to talk to.”

“Sure,” said Honey, “I’ll talk to the Trapper, uh, Evan about it. Let me know when the next one is.” 

Susie nodded, “Alrighty, it was nice meeting you Honey.”

“You too,” Honey waved, “see you later Susie.”

Honey pulled open the door and stepped back inside the MacMillan house.


	19. Chapter 19

Much to the Trapper’s chagrin, Honey was back, and he announced his annoyance as such, “You’re still here?” 

“Yup. Turns out the Legion doesn’t have enough room for a McKeever,” said Honey, flopping down on the couch. It was much more comfortable than she remembered it being, though this time she hadn’t fallen onto it from out of the abyss. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

The Trapper leaned out from one of the rooms, maybe a kitchen, Honey couldn’t tell from the couch, but she could make out the glower on his face. He knew she was lying, and she knew that as well, however, neither mentioned it. 

“Thanks though,” Honey said.

“For what?” there was obvious defense in his voice as he returned to whatever work had previously occupied him. 

A warmness touched the air and with it the scent of spices. Dinner maybe. 

“Nothing,” Honey folded her arms behind her head. As much as he tried to not give a shit, he obviously had gone out of his way to find someone she might be more comfortable spending the night with. He must have figured that spending it with a strange man wasn’t particularly appetizing, despite the ease in which she’d earlier dozed off. Still, it was probably best not to mention the kindness he’d afforded her. Not many killers liked their softness put on blast. 

“She seemed nice,” Honey called to him, “Susie.“

“Mm.”

“She said they sometimes have little get togethers after the trials. How come you don’t go?” 

“Not interested.”

“Not a bad thing to socialize every now and then,” said Honey.

The Trapper dried his hands with a towel as he came out of the probably-kitchen, “Why would I want to do that?” 

“Maybe I want to do that,” Honey said through pursed lips.

“I’m not stopping you,” he said.

“But I’ll be all alone?” Honey said.

“Susie will be there.” The Trapper ignored the obvious bait and changed the subject, “You let someone go - again,” he said.

“You heard that?”

“You’re not quiet.”

“Hm. Well I did kill someone too. So in your face.”

“In my face,” repeated the Trapper, “Don’t be surprised if you see The Shape lingering around the Estate again. He’s never failed a trial before.”

Honey sat up and immediately regretted it. “Oof,” she grunted and wrapped her arms around her torso, positive she had a perfect indentation of the Chevrolet’s grill across her chest. “Don’t try and freak me out,” she said, “I just survived buddy-copping him, let me have this,” she flashed him a smile, “what’re you cooking anyway?”

“Dinner,” said the Trapper curtly, “What happened?” He gave a jerk of his chin, indicating the bruises Honey clutched. “Run into a pallet?”

“A car.”

He chuckled.

“Har-har. Do you need help?”

“No,” he said, “We still have warm water here, it’ll help with the bruises and the blood on your face. Shower’s upstairs. You can...borrow anything you need,” he said completely aware he hadn’t anything to spare that would suit Honey’s small frame. She was resourceful he figured, she’d manage something.

“How long until dinner?” She asked.

“Long enough.”

“Alright,” she got up, “You have towels and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Can I borrow a shirt?”

“Yes.” 

“You’ll beat up Myers if he comes to get me?”

“No.”

“Damn. Thought I had you,” Honey laughed. She started for the stairs. She felt a little bad for imposing on him and lying to him too, this was his space, one that hadn’t been intruded on in all the time he’d been in this realm. 

“Hey,” she peeked over the railing, “the whole thing with Susie,” she said “It’s cool if I stay here...with you...right?”

The Trapper’s gaze slowly followed her. Though she expected him to rebuff her intrusion, he didn’t, “There’s plenty of room,” he said, without admitting her company wasn’t ALL that bad.

“Can I call you Evan?”

“Outside of trials.”

“Cool. You can keep calling me Honey,” she winked.

Not that she’d given him any other name to call her by.

“Thirty five minutes,” he said.

“Got it,” she bounded up the stairs with a smile.

The photographs on the wall had been straightened out, the grime on their glass wiped somewhat clean. Within her trial it seemed the Trapper, Evan, had taken it upon himself to pick up a little more around the place. Honey wasn’t sure why, the place might have been a bit in disarray, but it wasn’t completely off putting. She lived out of a one room apartment after all, even if the floorboards creaked with every step and the wallpaper had yellowed so much you couldn’t see the designs, this place was practically a mansion.

She poked back into her borrowed bedroom. With the grace of her host she dug into the drawers, pulling out a few options of shirts and not even bothering with pants. She knew they’d never fit and anything that fit over his torso was practically a dress for her.

“You’ll do,” she said to a black and red flannel and neatly tucked the others away. Her knuckles scraped a spiraled bit of metal hidden deep within the drawer.

“Hm?” She tilted her head and fished about, looping her fingers between the rings and tugging. The drawer birthed forth a 5x7 Canson sketchbook. Its cover had been folded over in Evan’s hasty effort to hide it, the edges curled from months of use, graphite thumb prints pocking every corner. 

Heavy footsteps from the living room reminded her this private almanac of art didn’t belong to her. So she tucked it away and locked it back in darkness with only her imagination to fill the pages.

She folded the button-up over her arm and went to find the bathroom. 

It was certainly nothing to write home about: a sink, a toilet, a shower. Everything a bathroom needed set within classic tiling and white walls. She flicked on the light and closed the door behind her. It was weird to barrel bolt a bathroom door shut, but who was she to judge, she was just happy there was a lock at all. 

She slid it into place and gave the door a good rattle just to make sure.

Unfamiliar bathrooms were always a crash course in rocket science. No one ever had the same faucet handles, so Honey spent some time fiddling with the dial to get the water to warm up. It took longer than she’d admit to, but she’d finally found a direction to point the little arrow in that didn’t spit out freezing cold water.

She yanked over the curtains and arranged her flannel and towels for easy grabbing, then finally peeled off her dirt and blood spattered clothing.

Yep. Perfect imprint of a car grill right over her sternum. She poked at it just to make sure it hurt. It did and it would for another couple of days.

She hopped into the shower, steam already rising up from the bowl of the tub and obscuring the mirror’s reflection. Evan was right. The warm water was definitely a welcomed reprieve, soothing each and every ache as long as she didn’t poke at them.

Little travel bottles of shampoo and conditioner sat on the shower shelf alongside a red bottle of cherry blossom body soap. She popped the cap and recognized the scent from Susie. Either she had left it on her first trial or Evan had asked for them on the off chance Honey didn’t take Legion’s offer.

Whatever the reason, she couldn’t complain, because a 2-in-1 shampoo-bodywash wasn’t going to cut it. 

She washed up to the hum of some Hall&Oates without the Oates while steam choked all the cool air out of the Entity’s realm.

Life as she’d lived it seemed so far away, detached almost, as if it no longer belonged to her. Late nights at her computer playing video-games, skipping breakfast just to eat two lunches, desperately trying to correlate time to see friends who were just as busy as she.

She ran her fingers through her tangled curls.

It wasn’t so bad here, a bit scary, but not bad. She didn’t have any bills to worry about, that was definitely a plus, and Evan was much more likable than her landlord.

Evan was a stone cold killer with a penchant for rusted hunting materials, yet under all that blood he was ... surprisingly human: preparing dinner, cleaning house, soft soaps, and notebooks. 

It wasn’t exactly appropriate to call it a front, because he did his duty without question. When Meg cowered before him, he hadn’t hesitated, not like Honey. He could murder someone and go about his day like it were any other menial chore.

Honey still thought about David.

Maybe she could apologize their next trial - if she didn’t see him around the campfire first. Oddly enough she felt more uneasy about being invited to the grounds of the ones she was supposed to - and had killed. It wasn’t partnered with any sort of expectations, just a free floating feeling of disquiet that suggested ‘maybe not.’

She agreed.  
Maybe not.  
They weren’t going anywhere anyway and neither was she. Plenty of time to change her mind.

Dirt and grime pooled at her feet, a tinge of red swirling into its kaleidoscope of color. The day washed away beneath her taking with it all the trials and all the murder, until all that was left were cherry blossoms and - 

“Honey.”  
Evan shouted up the stairs.

Honey smiled into the rain.  
Dinner sounded much nicer anyway.


	20. Chapter 20

Evan could hear her footsteps through the kitchen ceiling. They were small bouncing steps, much too happy for a world so full of darkness. Like a rabbit she hopped up the steps and slipped into his bedroom. He heard the drawers open and close, the thoughtful pause between each as she sifted about his things for something decent to wear. They’d suffer no more trials for the night, she could relax, and so could he.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The pipes rattled and groaned as hot water coursed through chilled veins. 

The last time anyone had shared his company was when Susie showed up with Legion. It was a large group, too many for just one killer to take on, so they’d been split. He wasn’t happy then and he wasn’t happy now. At least Susie was more quiet minded, never nosing her way into anybody’s business, a real pretty wallflower. 

Honey wasn’t like that.

She was obnoxious, loud mouthed, and nosy. Even with the crackle of grease on his pan, or the rain of a hot shower, he could hear her singing along and out of tune to Someone Like You. He tried to be annoyed by it, but it was a strange and unwelcome, welcome. Her presence brought warmth to a very cold realm, made the MacMillan Estate more than just a rotting carcass on the crooked edge of a crooked past. He was here - but she was home.

He grunted.

The Entity would change that. Like peeling a bandaid off, slow and excruciating. Every pinch of pain a reminder to the inevitability of it all.

Why did he hate the sentiment?

Honey wasn’t his friend, she was here as a temporary nuisance, he made that very clear. So, why did he hate the idea of watching that light fade within her eyes?

He pulled out a misfit pair of plates and set the table for two: silverware, cups, and a napkin square for each, and reminded himself that none of it mattered. Every soft edge of her personality would be filed down to a deadly point. This Honey was temporary, just as Evan had been before the Trapper. 

“Honey!” He called her name, voice carrying with little effort behind its projection as he set slushburgers on each plate.

The pipes rattled in reply.

He sat down and listened to the sound of her footsteps while steam curled around the sesame buns. 

A crack ran through his armor, and one small sharp corner fell away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait.  
> I’ve been sick with the flu and have been very slow in my work D:


	21. Chapter 21

The floorboards creaked and popped beneath Honey’s feet as she bounced down the stairs and stuck the landing. 

If flannel were the ocean, she’d be drowning.

The Trapper’s shirt hung loosely off her shoulders, the sleeves long like a lumberjack-wizard’s , and the collar wide about her neck even with all the buttons buttoned. 

“Smells good,” she said as she swung about the banister and into the kitchen, wet curls slapping her in the face.

It was a sad yellowed square of wallpaper, tie-dyed with weather and years. A pan holder hung like a dangerous butcher’s rack above a sink full of dirty dishes. He had made an effort at some point to clean a few, leaving them to dry in neat little rows beside the sink. 

Marbled counters circled the perimeter with very few accessories cluttering their tops, the absolute bare minimum to maintain a functional kitchen: toaster, microwave, and the same tall cup filled with wooden spoons and spatulas that every household had and never cleaned out.

At the kitchen’s heart stood a round wooden table with room for four knights, set only for two. 

“Oh! Sloppy Joes! I haven’t had one of those in years!” Honey said.

Evan had waited for her to come down before sitting in an unexpected show of politeness. He gestured out to the chair opposite his own with the indifference of an Easter Island head. Honey hadn’t waited for the invitation and plopped down into her seat. She kicked her feet as she leaned over the table and grabbed at the pitcher of water he’d planted right at its center.

She inspected it briefly and confirmed it was only water and asked without shame, “Do you have anything else?” 

Evan pointed to the fridge.

The chair made a god awful noise as it scraped back from the table and Honey hopped up out of her seat. 

The fridge was well stocked with meats the Trapper had hunted himself, stewed up into leftover soups and covered trays of venison. Silver beer cans of indistinct labeling filled the door shelves alongside some jars of condiments, each label a faded suggestion of a brand that wasn’t quite remembered enough to copy. 

The Entity could mimic only so much of their world, getting the taste right was enough, a brand name didn’t matter. 

“Ohooo, what’s this?” she asked pulling out a slender green glass bottle. 

Evan waited for her to turn around, examining the bottle briefly over his meal. “Sparkling cider,” he said. 

“Sparkling cider?” She asked as she pronounced every disgusting syllable of ‘sparkling.’

“Are you a psychopath?” 

Evan chuckled.

Honey twisted the cap off anyway, “It’s one thing to kill people,” she said as she moved back to the table, “this though? This is just unacceptably evil. You are a real monster, Evan MacMillan.” She poured herself a glass. Her eyes flashed to his, black like a honeybee, and silently inquired if he’d like some too.

He pushed his cup forward and she filled it a little more than halfway before setting the bottle down and sitting back in her seat. 

“Didn’t think you had it in you,” he said.

“Hmm?” 

“King.”

“Oh,” said Honey, “yeah well, like I told you, natural born killer right here,” she laughed and picked up her slushburger. The toasted bun crinkled under her fingertips, meat dripping down it’s edges in thick steaming chunks. 

“Guess I underestimated you,” he said.

Honey smiled at him as she took a bite and made a mess out of her cherry blossom scented nose, chin, and cheeks.

“Yeah you did,” she said through a mouthful. She took a few more bites, chewing and swallowing before asking, “Do you like doing them- the trials?”

Evan paused before a bite, “It’s what I do,” then buried his own teeth into the golden crisped roll. 

“Doesn’t mean you like it,” she said, “what DO you like?”

Evan was quiet for a long moment as he ate. She could see it was hard for him to answer, doing so meant letting her in to a part of him reserved ONLY for him. That meant Honey was no longer a not-friend. 

“Art,” he said.

“Oh?” She leaned in with interest, red meat stains smeared over her face, “Do you draw?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“What if I draw you something?”

Evan paused.

“I used to paint a lot when I was younger,” she admitted, “once I started working it kind of got hard to keep up with it, but it looks like I’m going to have a lot more of it now between these trials,” she tittered. “It’ll be fun.”

“What did you paint?”

“I watched a lot of Bob Ross growing up, so I’m partial to landscapes. I’m not real good with portraits, I can never get the eyes or hands right, but a cabin on a lake? I got you covered.” 

Evan listened quietly.

“What do you like to draw?”

“People,” said Evan, “monsters...” and thought a moment longer, “bears.”

“Who taught you how to draw?” 

“I taught myself,” said Evan.

“You probably see a lot of bears out here, huh?” said Honey, “I remember a few years back there was one they saw roaming around Paris Street. Probably smart thing to have - the bear traps,” she said with a nod towards the foyer just beyond the walls.

“Haven’t seen any,” he said, “but they’re around. You should be careful if you’re out late on the Estate.”

“Serial killers, psychopaths, and bears - oh my!” Honey threw her hands up in mock fright. 

“Have you ever gone outside your estate?” She asked after a moment.

“There is nothing outside my estate,” said Evan.

“What about the campers?”

Evan offered her a warning look, not one Honey felt was particularly dangerous, but suggested that she had been right not to take up Claudette’s offer.

“I know you’re not a people person, but you guys don’t ever talk? Not even a little?”

“No,” said Evan, “and you shouldn’t either. You won’t make any friends at that campfire. So don’t go looking for it.”

“Hmm.”

“There’s plenty of people here for you to ... get along with.” It was a struggle for him to say, but Honey appreciated the effort. 

“Like Susie and Jed?”

“Mm,” Evan grunted.

“And you.”

Evan didn’t reject the addition, “You had a lot of friends back home?”

“I wouldn’t say a lot,” Honey said, “We texted more than we saw each other. People are just too busy, myself included. Guess I don’t have to worry about that so much anymore,” she said, sinking a bit in her seat. 

For once, in all the time she’d been a pain in his neck, Evan saw that cheerfully obnoxious demeanor drop. 

“Jed used to work in print,” there was a kindness in the way he steered the conversation, introducing people she had yet to meet in an effort to give her some comfort of mind among new peers. “He’s got some good stories if you’ve got the time. Real competitive though, usually has a game of some sort going at those get togethers. Him and Amanda. She’s another good one, quiet, not like Susie. If she doesn’t talk to you, it’s not because she doesn’t like you.”

“Amanda?”

“Mm. Used to work with a guy, John Kramer.”

“I know that guy,” Honey said, “they called him Jigsaw. I read about it online. My parents wouldn’t let me go anywhere alone for months. Jeez,” she grimaced, “I’m super out of my league, huh? It doesn’t make sense.“

“Easier to not worry,” Evan said, “you won’t get any answers anyway.”

“Yeah,” she blew a raspberry and sipped at her cider. “Do YOU have any games?”

“Cards and dominoes.”

“You’re like a grandpa,” she laughed as she stood up, taking her empty plate with her. She politely collected Evan’s own and brought them to the sink.

He made an effort to get up and stop her, but she waved him off, “Thanks for making dinner,” she said, “least I can do is clean up.” She dumped it all in the basin and started the water. 

“I still wouldn’t want to go alone,” she said over the sound of clattering dishes and running water, “you should come with me.”

It was strange having dinner with a killer, sharing small talk, and even a few chuckles. None of the skeletons in his closet seemed to matter or take away from the person he had been. Beneath it all, he was still Evan and in these moments she caught those glimpses. 

She felt his shadow move beside her, looming at her shoulder with a towel in his hands. She looked up at him, far up at him, and passed him a wet dish. 

“You’ll have one more shadow-trial tomorrow,” Evan said as he dried the platters, pots, and bowls, “after that you’ll be alone for them.”

Honey’s shoulders slouched.

“Come on. It’s not that bad,” he said. 

“For you,” Honey pointed, “if I get stuck with Myers again I am s-c-r-e-w-e-d.” Then grumbled into the sudsy water, “I’m gonna get strangled to death by a guy twice my age. That. SUCKS.” 

Evan breathed his usual pause, then dug something out of his pocket and held it out to her.

She examined the offering, a scrap of ledger paper, and wiped her hands on her borrowed shirt before she accepted it between pruning fingers.

“What is it?”

“Burn it before you sleep,” he said, “it’ll assure your last trial is with me.”

Honey gaped up at him. 

He didn’t return her gaze, focused intently on the job at hand, running the blade of a rather sharp kitchen knife between the folds of a striped dish towel.

“I’m going to hug you.”

“Please don’t.”

“It’s going to happen.” 

She threw her arms around his waist, wet hands leaving imprints at his hip while he groaned in annoyance.


	22. Chapter 22

There was a knock at the door.  
Unexpected as all knocks past 12am tend to be. The Trapper furrowed his brow, and Honey still firmly wrapped about his waist, mimicked the deep furrow with much less intensity.

“Who’s that?” She asked.

“Not sure,” said Evan he took a few steps towards the foyer, dragging Honey along, “Not expecting anyone.” 

Murderers like Evan weren’t often unsettled by twilight visits from unexpected company. Honey on the other hand, was. Even with a brick wall like Evan between her and the door, she thought that maybe someone, Myers, might barge their way through and try to kill her anyway. 

Despite logic arguing a man like him would never knock first. 

Evan peeled Honey’s hands off his hip and made his way up to the front door. Calloused fingers wrapped around the knob while Honey peered out from the corner moulding of the kitchen arch. The tumblers clunked with the roll of his wrist and as the door creaked open.

Evan sighed.

“Move aside, I’m freezing my balls off out here,” said someone Honey didn’t know. 

“Hey, Evan,” said another person Honey also didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” said Susie, someone Honey did actually know, “I couldn’t stop them. They heard about Honey and well...” Susie nervously played with the hem of her blood stained sweater, “here we are.”

“So why don’t you introduce us,” said the first voice again, “Or are you keeping her all to yourself?”

The shadow on the other side of Evan clapped a hand on his shoulder and pushed by in a friendly show of balls.

He was a young kid, a bit younger than Honey with a real nasty attitude colored to his face, deepened by the dangerous shadows cast by a pulled up hood. He was tucked into a layered set of jackets, fabric beneath leather decorated in blood, belts, and studs. The gaggle that followed echoed his style, ducked in hoods like the hooligans they were, all smiles, giggles, and bad intentions. 

Honey had the distinct feeling she was about to be mugged.

There were four of them total and two outliers, a woman of unremarkable appearance, the kind of unremarkable that made her easy to miss, especially with the polite quietness that followed behind a rowdy group of high-schoolers. The other was a former high-school star no doubt, classic 80’s look, the kind of toned you don’t see anymore since Hollywood went a bit overboard with the steroid abuse. He had dark hair, tousled at the bangs, with the eyes of a reporter, real bright and inquisitive with a hint of Great White in there. 

Though he spoke to Evan, he was focused entirely on Honey, the first of all of them to notice her. 

“Can’t avoid us forever,” he said with a chuckle, offering the Trapper a devil’s grin before stepping inside with the other, clearly-not-a-hooligan, woman. 

Evan closed the door behind them.

“You must be, Honey,” said the reporter, “McKeever right?” And politely tucked his hands into his pockets, “I’m Jed, this is Amanda,” he nodded to the woman beside him, “and that there’s Frank, Julie, Joey, and Susie,” he pointed to each and then returned the hand to his pocket. 

Frank cocked a brow at her, eyeing her naked legs with little less subtly than an air horn in an empty stadium. 

Joey didn’t seem to care for introductions at all, making himself at home and pulling out two cases of beer from the fridge. 

Julie offered a small smile of greeting. 

Susie shyly shrugged and Amanda waved an awkward hello. 

“I thought I recognized the name when Susie told us about you,” said Jed, “the resemblance is uncanny.”

“Eh?” Honey asked as Joey shuffled by, arms full of beer.

“Daughter to Caroline McKeever and David de la Paz.”

Joey set the beer cans on the coffee table while the rest of Legion folded in around him and took over the couch.

“Granddaughter to Annie Tarrant and Paul McKeever,” Jed moved closer to her. “Great granddaughter to Daniel Robitaille. Better known as ... The Candyman.”

He stopped just before her, his shadow swallowing her whole, “I’ve got to say,” he said, “I wasn’t sure what to expect.” 

Honey wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or insult.

“How do you know all of that?” She asked.

“I’m a reporter,” he said with all the charm of a crocodile, “reporting is what I do.”

It was a moment steeped in a strangely fabricated tenseness. And then, just like that, the moment passed.

Jed stepped around her to join Legion about the table and Amanda followed in his footsteps. Honey hadn’t even noticed the board game they’d smuggled in and began to set up and by the look on Evan’s face, he hadn’t either.

“Candyman,” repeated Evan, mostly to himself.

“A few more times and we’re all fucked,” she warned with a grin.

Evan replied with a low chuckle.

And with nothing else to do, Honey chirped, “Alright! What’re we playing tonight?” She bounded over to the gaggle and threw herself over the couch and right onto Joey’s lap.

“Christ, kid!” He exclaimed, struggling to not spill his beer.

Jed quietly snapped a picture.

“Catan,” said Julie.

“Really?” Honey asked, not exactly sure what she expected murderers to play in their free time. Maybe Operation.

“You know it?” Julie asked.

“I mean, I’ve seen the box in Walmart and Barnes and Noble, but I’ve never played it.”

Joey annoyedly shifted to the right, allowing Honey to slip into a small spot between him and Julie.

“We’ll go slow, show you how to play,” Susie piped up, pulling up the box’s lid. 

“Beer?” Asked Frank.

“No thanks.” 

He cracked open his can as Susie knelt on the other side of the table and explained the rules. Honey never saw the look Evan gave him or the subsequent reply of a silent cocky smile. 

“So Honey,” Frank asked, “how many people have you killed?”

“Oh,” she said, “who can keep count.” 

Jed chuckled as he clicked through the pictures on his camera.

“We heard about your trial,” said Julie. 

“Got some balls on you to pull that shit with Myers,” said Frank, “should have killed her yourself though. Why’d you let her go?” 

Honey didn’t like the way he made every comment sound like an underhanded threat. “Gotta have a final girl,” she said, “that’s horror movie 101.” 

Susie passed the land to Julie, who shuffled them up and began to build the map. 

“This isn’t a horror movie,” said Frank. 

Julie shoved his foot off the table.

“Speak for yourself,” Jed joked.

“And when was the last time you had a decent trial?” spat Frank. 

“There’s a very specific method to my hunting,” he said calmly.

“Jed had a movie made about him in the 90’s,” said Julie.

“Stab,” said Susie.

“Killed someone opening night,” Jed reminisced, “I don’t know what it is that makes people want to dress up for movies.” 

“I saw that movie,” Honey said, “it was really bad.” 

Jed laughed. 

“Not far from the source material,” quipped Frank.

“Frank’s had a bit of a dry run lately,” Jed explained Legion’s manners, “performance issues.”

“Fuck you, Jed,” Frank spat.

“I appreciate the offer,” Jed said, “but I’m more of a wine and dine kind of guy. Don’t take it personal.”

Frank leaned forward and snatched up the die, “I’m going to burn your whole fucking settlement.”

“That’s not how the game works,” Julie whispered to Honey.

“You playing?” Susie asked Evan.

“No.”

“How come the Entity’s always sending you the new recruits?” Frank asked.

“Evan’s been here the longest,” said Jed, “seems only natural. You’re also a lousy host.”

“Least I didn’t buy my costume from Party City.”

“No, I’m sure the Dollar Store sells paper plates for much cheaper anyway.”

Amanda smirked.

“Will you two cut it out,” Julie chided as Amanda took her turn.

“Where are you from?” Susie asked between the noise.

“Here,” Honey said, “well, not here, here, I live in Weeks not too far from the MacMillan Estate.” 

“Oh,” said Susie, “you two grew up together?” 

“No,” Honey said, “The MacMillan Estate has been abandoned my whole life. He’s more of a local legend.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Well, I always cut through the Estate on my way home from work, usually people aren’t getting murdered there though. So that was new.” 

“You just walked in?” Julie asked.

“Well,” said Jed, “That’s unusual.”

Amanda’s gaze never shifted from the map as she collected her resources, “But not unlikely.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to make it a little more flashy,” Honey said.


	23. Chapter 23

“I need grain,” Jed said.

“Starve,” said Frank.

“Nope,” said Amanda.

“I’ll remember this,” said Jed.

The rounds continued in strained company, cards passed between players, roads built, and settlements flourished...except for Jed’s.

Evan huffed quietly in a cloud of annoyance and Honey warmed up to the strange, and unusual company of seven killers. 

“I think I’m getting it,” she said, leaning over Julie’s shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, the MacMillan Estate was filled with laughter and games, strangers becoming quick friends over fake settlements while the terrible nature of their existence shrunk backwards into a realm of spider legs and rusty hooks. A mirror had been held up to the past and reminisced of the normalcy they had all left behind: High-school friends, artists, and writers. They were all still killers, but in a shared company that required no masks, no bear traps, reverse or not. 

They could be happy with a razor sharp edge. 

Even Evan had seemed to relax a bit into the company that filled his living room. Still bristling about the edges, but a bit more comfortable with the intrusion, pulling a chair up alongside the game table to watch and maybe keep an eye on Frank. 

Honey noticed the viciousness in those pointed looks, the kind of gaze she imagined he often painted into the faces of bears. 

It was comforting.  
Because she knew those looks were meant for her. 

Frank noticed, but didn’t acknowledge the constant surveillance of his unwilling host. A smug smile touched his lips every time Evan shot him a glare, a half opened window to the killer’s sensitivity, only cracked when Frank cast leering glances to Honey or asked a question just a bit too personal for Catan.

They’d entertained small talk, the usual questions: How old are you? What did you do for work? What are your hobbies? Any boyfriends? Girlfriends?

Honey had answered them all (30, secretary, art, no and no) and returned the questions to their askers. Frank and Julie had an apparent thing for one another, but didn’t admit it as anything serious. Susie was the youngest of them there and had been interning with the Sustainability office in her school before Frank. Joey liked to drink and didn’t like to talk.

Despite knowing his business already, Jed had wasted no time to jump into the limelight and entertain Honey with a rather lengthy story about the time he’d murdered a local politician twice: first in her bathroom and second in print. 

He was quite proud and even had pictures to share. 

Honey held the sleek little camera in her hands saying “wow” as she clicked through each frame in the same vein one might when looking at vacation pictures they had no interest in. 

If that vacation were filled with corpses.

Jed cocked a brow, “Impressive right?”

“No one cares about your shitty pictures, Jed,” Frank spat. 

He snatched the camera from Honey and whipped it back across the table. 

Jed caught it and turned the display up to see where Honey had left off. A glassy eyed woman lay sprawled on the bathroom floor amidst the clutter of a tipped over makeup tray: foundation bottles, lipstick tubes, eyeliner, and soft, egg shaped sponges soaking up the blood from white tiles.

Honey felt he hadn’t offered the photos to her in sincerity. Reporters seldom do. He wanted a reaction. 

Frank had no patience for it. 

She was thankful for that at least. She’d had enough murder for the day and was dully reminded of her own part in it. 

She looked at her hands as if the blood still stained her fingertips.

“How was it trialing with the Shape?” Julie asked.

Frank snorted.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him,” she tutted, “I’ve always imagined what it might be like. He’s a legend. I’d kill to have had my first trials with him.”

Honey opened her mouth to reply, but it was Frank’s voice that answered.

“He’s a fucking relic.”

“63 years old and no one’s ever escaped his trials” said Jed, “don’t worry, Frank, you still have some time to catch up.”

Frank stood up, his knees bumping the coffee table and sending roads and homes skittering about the map. 

Susie jumped to collect them all, trying her best to replace them.

“I’ve had about enough of your shit,” Frank spat, “How about I add that smug fucking grin to that photo album of yours?” His breath heaved in his chest, a deep, predatory sound, his shoulders hunched, leading with a vulture’s glare. 

Jed smirked, which only pissed him off more, “I’d invite you to try,” said Jed, “but I’m afraid you just wouldn’t get the lighting right. And I’m not a fan of filters, takes something away from the whole art of it.”

Then Evan stood and the entire room recoiled.

Julie placed a hand on Frank’s arm. “Alright, alright,” she said sternly, “you two need to chill out.”

“Is it always like this?” Honey asked.

“Yup,” said Joey taking another swig.

“Let’s go have a cigarette,” Julie said and pulled Frank out of the room.

“I could go for one too,” said Joey, rocking himself up and out of the disheveled, old couch. 

“You smoke?” Julie asked.

“Nah,” said Honey.

“Good,” said Julie.

Susie stood with them, a nervousness touched to her eyes over being left alone without them. It wasn’t the company that seemed to unnerve her, but the tension of her own Legion. 

Head down, she followed after them, mumbling an apology she owed to no one. 

The door closed behind Legion and from the couch the rest could hear their muffled grumblings between breaths of smoke.

Amanda shot a look at Jed, who held up his hands defensively as if he had nothing to do with the situation.

“He’s going to kill you one day,” she said, matter of factly.

“Probably,” said Jed all the same.


	24. Chapter 24

Legion’s shadows leaned against starless black skies and macabre god-legs with unsharpened teeth. Tiny ghosts of fire lingered on their lips, breathing with them beautiful auburn colors. The acrid stench of cigarette smoke lingered in the foyer, seeping in-between the cracks with whispered conversations and petty insults that Jed pretended not to hear. 

Frank was a lion penned, pacing back and forth to the cadence of each uttered curse, finishing one cigarette before lighting another. The glow of the flame illuminated his face in the softest embers, their reflection in his eyes a betrayal to the darkness that seemed to consume them. 

“Fucking prick,” he muttered between clenched teeth.

“Let it go,” Julie said, “He’s just trying to show off.”

“Hmph,” said Joey, taking a drink between puffs. 

Frank hoisted himself up onto the banister, the 90’s chain at his hip slipping over the ledge with a quiet jingling. He hunched over his cigarette, elbows pressed into his knees and watched the game-table through the veil of the window screen.

Honey laughed.  
Jed smiled.  
Frank scowled. 

“Come on,” Julie said, “Let’s get out of here, huh? We’ve got trials in a few hours anyway.”

“No,” said Frank. Smoke slithered over his lips, curling about the words before the night air swallowed its tendrils. “Something’s not right.”

“With Jed?”

“No,” he ashed his cigarette, “with her,” he pointed its ember to the window and the new girl laughing just beyond it. 

“The girl?” Joey asked, “Seems harmless.”

“She does, doesn’t she,” said Julie.

Frank breathed the heat of his cigarette deep into his lungs. Unanswered questions lingered in the shadows of his eyes, still focused on the veiled image of prey.

“Cute though,” said Joey.

Susie twisted her sleeves about in her hands. 

“Something on your mind?” Frank asked.

The sharpness of his voice made her jump, “Oh n-no,” she stammered.

He narrowed his eyes and coaxed an answer from her without a word.

“She’s nice,” said Susie.

Frank’s brow furrowed as he took another measured drag from his cigarette. The embers burned down to his fingers, the shadows poured into his face and stole away the humanity that lingered there, leaving behind the eyes of a hawk. 

He drew a black mark over the railing with the butt of his cigarette, snubbing the last of its embers. Dark and demented moonlight flickered in his eyes, charmed by two other points of glowing red from the lips of Joey and Julie. “What did Evan tell you?”

There were so many parts of her sweater to keep her hands, and the nerves that shook them, occupied, crimping and curling, “Nothing really,” said Susie as she did just that. 

“Susie...” Julie’s voice was much softer than all the edges that outlined Frank, gentle and coaxing. It was enough to make Susie fold. 

It always ways.

Susie’s eyes flicked from Julie to Frank, then back to her hands and the ball of sleeves within them. “Really,” she said, “he didn’t say much. He said she was new and that - that...”

The entire group seemed to fold inward upon her, a gentle leaning of interest that brought all eyes uncomfortably upon her.

“That maybe having a friend like me wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Apparently she didn’t do too good on her first trial...”

Frank listened intently, taking in the way she pointed her toes inward, averted her eyes beneath the veil of her hood, and wrang the extra fabric of her sleeves between her fingers. He knew she wasn’t lying, she never had the balls for that, but it was the unspoken truth that interested him. 

If Honey were like Susie - then Honey wasn’t like any of them at all. 

He looked back to the window and said, “So that’s why he’s been keeping her to himself.”

“You think she’s a survivor?” Julie asked, “is that even possible?”

“Why not?” Frank asked matter-of-factly.

“No,” Susie waved, “that can’t be right.”

“Then why didn’t we get Robitaille?” Frank asked.

“The Candyman?” Julie followed.

“Could be another Rin/Kazan situation,” Joey suggested.

“Rin never pulled the shit Honey did,” Frank said. “You said it yourself,” he said to Susie, “she couldn’t cut it in her first trial and now everyone’s talking about Myers. He’s pissed. And Jed - he’s got that fucking look on his face again. Bet he was taking pictures the whole time.”

”Jed always has that look,” Julie said.

“No, Frank’s right,” said Joey, “he had the same look with Valentine.”

There was a shared quiet in the reminiscence of the man who couldn’t quite ever cut it as a killer in life or death. Wherever he was, was no longer here, and in that moment, they felt his absence like a ghost - a ghost neither of them cared to remember.

Joey stuffed his cigarette into the remnants of his Unbranded can and set it on the railing beside Frank.

“Valentine was a fraud though,” he said, “The kid’s at least killed one person.”

“Yeah, King,” said Julie with sarcasm, “wouldn’t really count that.”

“Sacrifice is sacrifice,” said Joey, “don’t even know why we’re arguing this. If the Entity wanted her to survive, she wouldn’t be playing board games with us bastards. She failed a trial and screwed over Myers, if you ask me, that was Her plan the whole time. Keep us on our toes. That’s how it works right?”

Julie puffed up her cheeks in annoyance, and opened her mouth to protest, but it was Frank that cut her off.

“You’re starting to sound like Amanda,” said Frank.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Joey said. 

The sound of a half remembered cricket song filled in the empty spaces between their conversation. Frank grew quiet as he mulled over the options laid before him, spoken and unspoken, while Honey told a rather dull joke to a very unimpressed Ghostface. She laughed despite the rolling of his eyes and even managed to get the killer to crack just a bit.

“What’re you thinking?” Julie asked.

“We get that camera. Find out for sure.”

“Or just ask,” said Joey.

Frank scoffed.

“The girl,” he clarified, “she’d probably tell you anything - If you can play nice.”

“Then what?” Julie asked, “Say she is a survivor, what then?”

Frank slid off the railing and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“I’ll handle that part,” he said. 

Joey pulled open the front door for him, the remnants of their smoke swirling about its yawning. 

There was no answer demanded on retort, just a quiet agreement, after all, this outfit would always fall beneath his order, bound on blood, Frank’s Legion.

Unbreakable and unstoppable. 

For just a moment, he stopped and looked at Susie, idly braiding her pink hair between her fingers, “Susie.”

“Hm?” She didn’t look up.

“If what Evan says is true - then he might be right, she’ll need friends. You’ll keep an eye on her?”

Susie bit her lip and nodded, “Sure.”

Frank smiled in return, “Good.”


	25. Chapter 25

“Sorry,” Honey said, “we tried to salvage the game, but I think this one’s a wash.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Frank, “you get the rules?”

“Yeah, think so.”

Frank reclaimed his seat on the couch. The cushions sighed as he fell back into them, their picked and frayed fabric welcoming in the lingering warmth of his body heat.

Joey moved in next, giving Honey’s thigh a small wrap of the back of his hand, “Make room, kid.”

“Not a kid,” said Honey as she obliged request.

Joey socked in-between the two of them while Julie and Susie sat criss-cross-applesauce together on the floor.

“Honey,” Joey said, “your parents name you that on purpose?”

“Oh,” said Honey, “No, they didn’t. My name’s María Luisa. I’ve been called Honey my whole life though. Funny story too, I actually didn’t even know that until I was in kindergarten and my teacher called my name. I didn’t answer because, well, no one ever called me by it.”

“Really?” Julie chuckled.

“Yeah,” Honey replied, matching her smile.

“Hm,” said Jed.

“What’s the matter, Jed?” Frank asked, “From your extensive research, I assumed you would have already known that.”

“Don’t gloat, it makes you look foolish,” said Jed, “I did know, however, I didn’t know why. I find it rather amusing in fact, partly unbelievable too. Kindergarten, you say? That would make you five, or close to. How is it you managed to go that long without knowing your own name?”

Honey shrugged, “I was a kid. My parents called me their little ‘Honey-Bee’ and it stuck.”

“Do you miss them?” Julie asked.

Honey couldn’t help but be taken aback by the question. To be honest, she hadn’t thought of it up until now. She felt guilty for that. Not that they were relatively close now, strained more like it. Her parents had always been the protective sort, a bit overly so, and with good reason.

They never really did get over her moving to Weeks.

“I do,” she said, “I suppose I’m a bit lucky, though.”

“What do you mean?” Susie asked.

“Well,” she started carefully, “I guess lucky isn’t really the right word, but I know, at least, my parents won’t be surprised. Strange disappearances and deaths are kind of the norm for my family.

I grew up without mirrors in my house because they thought the Candyman would snatch me away in the night. Apparently he’s got a thing for that, they told me someone is always bound to him in some way: my mom, my grandma, her grandma,” she rolled her wrist along with the account, “so on and so forth. They’ll just chalk it up to dear old grandad when I don’t return their calls or texts. I guess it’s not entirely wrong either. My last trial...I think I’ve got a lot more in common with him than they realized.“

Her hands fell limp in her lap.

Evan noticed.

“It sucks and I do miss them, but at least it’s not unexpected. I guess it’s the best I could have asked for.”

Amanda shuffled the tiles and built the world of Catan up once more.

“At least they’ll have an answer,” she said, “They won’t spend years wondering what happened to you, or where you went. Not a lot of families get that. They won’t have to grieve for long.”

Honey felt the gravity of it all like a crushing weight, one new suitcase of guilt and desperation stacked upon her shoulders with no room left for more. She felt her smile fade and all the light within her turned black.

“Yeah,” she said sadly.

“Sorry,” Amanda said, not sounding all too sorry-ingly.

“You don’t have to answer them,” Evan reminded her bitterly.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Honey lied, “What about you guys?”

“I lost my family a long time ago,” Amanda said.

“My parents threw me out at 16,” said Joey.

“And my parents always threatened to,” Julie laughed in comparison.

“Don’t have any,” said Frank.

“We lost touch,” said Jed.

Susie shrugged.

And Evan was silent in a way Honey did not recognize.

Frank handed the dice to Honey, “What about your job?” He asked, “Bet you don’t miss that.”

And just like that, all the warmth that radiated from her returned in a nuclear explosion as she barked a laugh in the face of such a silly question.

“No!” she declared rather too loudly. “My job was fine in theory. Building spreadsheets and setting up meetings isn’t as hard as the job postings make it out to be. It’s actually pretty straight forward. But my boss was a piece of work. This guy would have me painting lines in the parking lot, weeding the stupid little rock garden, fixing doors, painting walls,” she explained rather animatedly, “let me tell you, I did not get paid as much as I should have for everything I did - or all the skeevy comments. Didn’t even get health insurance.” She blew a raspberry, “Shame I can’t hang _him_ up on a hook.”

Evan made a small sound that could have been a chuckle.

“Why didn’t you?” Amanda asked.

“What?“

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Amanda clarified.

“Well, just because he was a bad boss doesn’t mean he deserved to die,” she shrugged, “me disappearing is probably way worse anyway,” she laughed, “oh man, he’s going to be SO screwed tomorrow morning.”  


Amanda smiled.

”You worked with Jigsaw, right” Honey’s voice tiptoed over the name, “what was it like?”

“Nothing like that,” Amanda said as turns passed between them, “But...I learned a lot,” she said, “about people - about myself.”

“Did you like it?”

“I did.”

“What about you guys?”

“No job,” said both Frank and Joey, much to Honey’s expectations and no-offenses.

“Susie and I used to work at a Dairy Queen together, it was alright when there were no customers,” said Julie, “we used to make the grossest concoctions when we were slow. Butter Pecan and Eggnog, or Birthday Cake and Garlic.”

“They have garlic ice cream,” Honey said as she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“They do!” laughed Julie.

“Yuck!” Honey shivered at the thought of its flavor on her tongue and tried to wash it down with Jed, “What about you?”

“I loved my job, working with the media,” Jed said with a grin, “only time I got to talk about myself and get paid doing it.”

“Your selfie game needs work though,” Julie said.

“My selfie game,” Jed repeated with emphasis on the terminology, “is fine.”

“Oh-ho-kay,” laughed Julie.

“Not everything needs a filter,” Jed pointed out.

“You’re telling me it wouldn’t be hilarious to put a dog face filter on one of the survivors?”

Jed thought about it for a minute, then nodded, “You may have a point. Ok, how do I do it?”

“Give me your phone.”

Jed handed his phone to Julie, who immediately tapped her fingers over the screen.

“Oh!” Honey pointed, “you have a phone? Do you have a charger I can borrow? Mine’s dead.”

“Sure,” Jed said, “I’ll drop one off tomorrow. Think you can survive?”

“Probably not,” Honey snorted, “Do they work? The phones?”

“Sort of,” said Julie as she tip-tapped away on Jed’s phone, “music and cameras work, apps too...sometimes...but no real internet and any calls and texts you want to make only work within the realm. That means you’re stuck with us,” she said, sticking her tongue out between her teeth. “I can get you everyone’s numbers when your phone is charged,” Julie said, “us, Jed, Amanda...not a lot of us have them. Doc still has a beeper,” she chuckled.

“Doc?”

“Doctor Carter,” clarified Evan in his usual gravely monotone, “I wouldn’t go looking for him anyway.”

“Got it,” Honey gave a thumbs up. Were the circumstances any different, she might have questioned his reasoning. But this was a realm of murderers - and she wasn’t about to ignore the warning of one, especially when it regarded another.

“What about you?” Honey asked.

Evan frowned, “No,” he said, “No phone.”

“Here,” Julie handed the phone back to Jed, “Evan doesn’t know what a meme is anyway and his fingers are too big for the keys.”

“Hm,” grunted Evan.

Jed inspected his phone briefly then snapped a photo and chuckled to himself.

Frank built a road.

“Don’t worry,” Julie said, “we’re all pretty easy to find here, all of our “homes” are connected,” she said with air quotes, “We’re staying up at the Mount Ormond Resort.”

“Susie said you were thinking about staying with us,” Frank interjected with thin kindness.

“Oh,” Honey tucked a wayward strand behind her ear, “yeah she did ask, but Evan was nice enough to let me stay here, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” Frank insisted, “and I’m sure you could use some actual clothes.”

“I have a laundry room,” Evan gruffed.

“And she has - what? One pair of clothes?“

“For once I agree with, Frank,” Jed said, “you’re not exactly fun-sized.”

“It’s alright, really,” Honey waved off their concerns.

“You’ve had two trials?” Amanda asked.

“Yeah.” 

“She’ll be fine then, the entity usually provides a few sets after shadow-trials,” she said, “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“If you change your mind, you let us know,” Frank added and offered the die to Honey.

“Sure,” she said, “thanks,” and rolled.


	26. Chapter 26

Every good party has an ending.  
This was no good party - and Evan was glad to see it end. 

Pieces were gathered and neatly tucked away, the game lid gently slipped over its box, sealing away entertainment for another night with a soft sigh. 

They weren’t kind enough to clean up their empties or the cigarette butts left on the porch railing, Evan didn’t care, nor did he expect any better of them. Legion had yet to grow out of that rebellious, anarchist phase and he doubted they ever would. 

Except of course, Susie.  
He could never compare her soft heart to their vicious crimes. Even with blood on her hands, the red seemed so much more ... pink.

“Don’t be a stranger” Jed gave a wink at the door, smiling at Honey like a shark.

Amanda offered a nod.

“Be seeing you,” Frank said, his entourage nodding with all the enthusiasm they could afford. 

They closed the door behind them, creeping fingers of fog severed by its latch. 

There was quiet, a sweet and empty nectar, decorated in empty beer cans and mismatched chairs where the ghosts of killers once sat. It was difficult to say the night had come to a close, when daylight was a precious memory saved only for the living. 

Honey had come to terms with that rather quickly, as time didn’t move quite as it should and dawn never broke on the horizon, only more night, absolute and unending. 

She swallowed it down like a hard shot of whiskey, never letting the flavor touch her tongue, knowing the burn would turn her. The moment she stopped, so too would the world, and that meant acknowledging the truth of the matter.

“Well...” she said with a huff, “they could have at least picked up their trash.”

Evan was silent, no surprise there, but Honey had gotten used to that too and had already begun picking up the pieces of their night.

“I can see why you don’t like them,” she said.

Evan furrowed a brow as he watched her.

She had been so genuine in her hospitality, joining them in their games, laughing along with them at their jokes, and yet...she shared a similar sentiment in distaste. 

“That Frank’s a piece of work,” she said, “Julie too. They’re not too good at hiding it either. Guess I shouldn’t have really expected much different,” she shrugged, “they’re all killers,” she paused, “oh...I suppose I am too.”

She looked at the empty Unbranded beer can in her hands.

“Yes,” Evan said. 

“I did it so easily too,” she said, “I didn’t even think about it, I just did it. I’ve never been like that. It’s not like that guy, uhm, David, did anything particularly terrible...” she gathered up the rest of the empties as if the work might distract her thoughts, surprised when the Trapper’s hand gently stopped her.

“Oh...” the sound escaped her.

For the most part the dark aspects of this realm had only been violent and brutish, manhandling her about their trials in unkindness. A monster among monsters. There was no need for pleasantries.

Yet...here stood one of the Entity’s wolves, offering his sympathy in the only way he knew how.

”Ah well,” she mustered up some of her cheer, “I guess it’s just something I’ll have to get used to ... yikes. Never thought I’d say something like that. Ha!” She chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to get my coat back at some point too,” she said, looking down at the oversized flannel she had borrowed, “I love your shirt, I really do, but I can’t really play up the whole Candyman thing with it,” she grinned, “don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for your help,” she waved, “I can handle the big bad Bogeyman all by myself,” she puffed up her chest.

“That so?” Asked Trapper.

“Mhm,” she marched her way into the kitchen with Legion’s trash clutched to her chest, “he’s scary, but slow. I just have to be quick.”

“No,” he said, “You were lucky to escape his trial. You go to Haddonfield now - he’ll make sure you don’t come back.”

Honey pouted as she dropped the trash into the bin, “What? You don’t think I could do it?” 

“And survive?” he said, “No.”

“Laurie did.”

“You’re not Laurie.”

“You’re not Laurie,” she mimicked and was surprised to hear Evan chuckle. It made her smile - and then - she laughed too. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” the humor dropped from his voice as Honey clapped the crumbs from her hands, “I’ll get your coat back. Tomorrow. If-“

Honey craned her neck to look up at him, “If?” She asked with a suspicious squint.

“You don’t ever do that again.”

“Deal!” She exclaimed, “no take backs!” 

He allowed a small smile to grace his lips and it didn’t feel entirely out of place. “No sabotaging trials.” 

Honey nodded, “No sabotaging trials,” she screwed her face up in thought, “though, my last one is with you. So it’s not like I’d do that anyway.”

He replied with only a raised brow.

“What? I like you,” she shrugged, “you’ve been really nice to me. I don’t know how many times you need me to say that before you believe it,” she stuck her tongue out at him. 

“You shouldn’t.” 

“You know, it’s ok to have friends,” she said, measuring the filth of the room around her, “even here.” For the most part they’d collected up the trash and stray crumbs, what remained was only a memory of a home, poked in cotton tufts of torn couch cushions and frayed rugs. 

Just about as home-sweet-home as a murderer’s house could be. 

“But I get it, we just met and I kind of ruined your trial the other day,” she paused, “or was that today? I can’t tell.”

“Yesterday,” he affirmed.

Honey brushed her bangs out of her face as if they’d cooperate. 

They didn’t.

“Hmm,” she thought, “well, either way, I promise I’ll do better. Tomorrow we kill them all,” she planted her hands firmly on her hips and gave a confident nod, “it’s kind of fun - if you think of it like a game,” she said, “no one’s really getting hurt or dying.”

“No, they aren’t dying,” said the Trapper.

“Oh come on,” Honey sagged with exhaustion, “why’d you have to say it like that!”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said curtly.

She squinted at him as if she might be able to discern something of his impassive visage. 

He didn’t allow her a moment too long, passing her by and dropping down on the couch with a heavy sigh. 

He didn’t meet her eyes, content to stare up at an oddly shaped stain on his ceiling. It wasn’t avoidance, it was comfort in the absence of company, embraced by silence and the presence of a friend. 

He felt her follow after him, the gentle rest of her gaze upon his face, unmasked, but unafraid. There weren’t many he could say he felt at ease with, always on edge, a creeping annoyance up his spine that whitened his knuckles and clenched his jaw. Honey was nothing like that, she was as sweet as her name and perhaps just about as much naive, a pillow cloud amongst a thunderstorm, desperately trying to bring rainbows to bloodshed. 

If she could walk into the eye of the storm with a smile - he supposed he could knock on the Bogeyman’s door for a coat. 

And he wanted to.

He felt the cushions beside him sink ever so slightly with her weight as she sat down beside him. 

“How long before I’m like them?” She asked.

Her voice seemed so far away, quieter, resigned to that future they all were destined to.

His eyes shifted to her, then back to the ceiling. “Like them?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“Never.”

Honey quirked a brow. 

“Legion has always been like that, even when they first walked into the Fog.“

“Were you always like this?” 

“No.”

The answer was curt.  
Honey knew not to chase it’s reasoning.

“You’ll be fine,” he said and felt her head lay upon his chest. 

This time, he didn’t grit his teeth. 

“Thanks,” she said.


	27. Chapter 27

Paper corners curled inward like the legs of a dying spider, blackened by fire, burning away to ashes that floated around them like new snow.

Honey watched them through half lidded eyes, her head rising and falling with the even breaths of the Trapper. How long ago he had fallen asleep, she didn’t know, or if he even had. But he was still and he was quiet - and she was happy.

She clutched his overalls a little tighter and closed her eyes.

Despite it all.  
Today.  
Tonight.

It was a good day.

———-

She had grown accustomed to the filtered blue dilapidation of this realm, the undulating spiral of an eldritch monstrosity overhead like a macabre halo. The way it all fell upon her like a veil, like she’d never fallen asleep at all and simply existed. 

Never gone.

Beside her, heavy breaths. The even bait of a predator, fingers clenched about the rusted teeth of a bear trap, gazed out upon his Estate with a softened gaze. The kind Honey had grown to adore.

She matched the smile on his mask and he nodded back.

His footsteps were a patient thunder, ungainly measured, the kind that reverberated alongside the rhythmic thumping of a heart beat, ushering in the flood of anxiety that brought sweat to brow and shook the hands.

Honey, on the other hand, was a shuffle at best, without the presence of mind for any presentation - terrifying or otherwise.

She swore the crows looked upon her with spiritless resolve, rolling their eyes to the Entity above as she dragged her feet along the crinkled autumn leaves. 

“Hrm,” she recognized the grunt as the Trapper called for her attention, talkative as always amidst their finite game of hide and seek. 

“What is it?” She asked low.

He gave a roll of his shoulder as if to indicate she follow and she did, right up to a paneless window of no remark.

She scrunched her face in confusion as she watched him crouch down to the creak of leather boots, calloused hands pulled open the rusted metal jaws in his grip and placed it there right beneath the drop down.

“They’re going to run from you,” he said so lowly that she had to lean in to hear, “windows,” he said as he straightened, “good to trap. Those wooden pallets too,” he pointed to their right as if telling her to do the same.

“I don’t have any traps,” Honey whispered back and patted her pockets and then turned them out with a sheepish smile.

“Hm,” the Trapper towered over her, a thoughtful mark to that “hm.”

“Wait here.”

He lumbered off briefly with a curious Honey watching after him as he shifted about his Estate, returning not too long after and handing her one of those oversized monstrosities full of teeth.

She accepted it, her body lurching forward with the unexpected weight of it all. 

The Trapper pointed again to the empty space between the pallet and canvas covered crates. 

Honey, having made a promise, nodded assuredly and dragged herself and the heavy twisted metal contraption over to the spot.

She set the trap down and looked it over, tilting her head this way and that. Though she’d seen the Trapper place them a number of times before she actually couldn’t really recall just HOW to do it herself. 

‘It’s a bear trap,’ she thought, ‘how hard could it be, Wile E. Coyote uses them all the time,’ she nodded to herself and then realized - perhaps Wile E. Coyote was not the best reference for bear traps and other instruments of capture. 

She fussed with it, wedging her fingers between the teeth and feeling the rust scrape and pinch her skin. It was a struggle, hurt in her shoulders and had her clenching her jaw with the effort as she knelt closer to the ground and leaned into it. The springs gave a whine but hardly relented to her grip. 

Click...  
...click...

Slowly, very slowly, teeth began to part, maw opening to her forced whim. She pushed her weight into it more, leaning closer and closer into its jaws. 

Dangerously close.

The Trapper watched with tensed shoulders, a breath held in his chest as her tiny frame shook with the effort. The hinges squeaked, Honey’s fingers slipped and the Trapper instinctively jerked forward - as if he had any time to save her face from the impending doom of a twelve inch spread.

“S-shit,” Honey felt the sweat on her brow, loose strands of bangs stuck there to her forehead between those teeth, just a fraction of an inch away from kissing her cheeks, “that...that was close,” she breathed a feigned little chuckle. 

The Trapper finally felt himself exhale as Honey managed to wrestle the thing open and into place. 

He resigned most severely, “I will trap.”

Honey frowned up at him, sure she was glad to hear him say it, she’d almost gotten her face stuck in a bear trap, but at the same time - “What will I do then?”

She made a promise.  
She wouldn’t mess up.  
But if she couldn’t trap and she sucked at killing - what was left?

“Chase,” he answered.

“Chase?”

“Mhm,” he said, “you remember the generators?”

“I do,” she stood and dusted the dirt and leaves from her knees.

“Find them, make sure they can’t repair them - and if they do,” he said, “break them.”

“Break them?”

He nodded, “Kick them - or use your hook - make sure the gates don’t get powered. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Ok?”

“It’s important, Honey.”

Her name sounded sweeter on his tongue. Even here it made her smile.

“I can do it,” she said with a reassuring nod.

The Trapper looked down on her, as he always did.

“I know.”


	28. Chapter 28

Honey wasn’t exactly the fastest, her knees hurt after running and her lungs felt like they were on fire. Fortunately it was a rare occasion in horror that any villain ever really RAN after anyone. 

The best of the best were often slow, patient hunters. Just look at the Bogeyman. Despite all the best efforts of those desperate to survive his trials, the only time they ever succeeded, not even a “they” but a “one,” was because of HER.

And it wasn’t like she was alone, she had the Trapper. 

So she walked.

“Pallets and windows,” she repeated to herself, as if the reminder were for anything other than not stepping her OWN foot into one of those nasty, rusted maws. She figured, as much as she hated to figure it, she would most likely endure at least one bite.

She cringed at the thought.

The hook in her hand was starting to feel familiar, as if it had always been hers, and maybe somehow that were true.

The Trapper probably felt the very same way about his, well, traps.

She marched her way across the property, feeing the cool metal clenched between her fingers, ears strained to the din of a midnight estate where somewhere in the distance she could hear the heavy thumps of his footsteps. 

Beside that and beside the autumn leaves crunching beneath her boots, there was only the whisper of the wind and the terrible things that lurked within the shadows.

“Shh.”

Honey paused.  
Listened.  
Squinted.  
And all other manner of words that would imply she stood very still and very alert. 

The world fell quiet around her, the wind held its breath, even the Entity ceased her whispering for just a moment. Her fabricated, blighted moon cast eerie shadows over the Estate, her legs drawing back for only a moment, illuminating the set for her players so Honey might better see the two figures that crouched in hiding like a pair of Looney Tunes behind a tree much too small for even one of them. 

It was only a shame that Honey had particularly terrible night vision and couldn’t tell the shadows of their elbows from the branches of the tree. 

So she waited.  
And so too did they. 

Both unsure of whether or not they had actually heard anything at all. And maybe a bit too scared to confirm. Granted, there wasn’t much for Honey to fear, considering her role among the veil, and even if the others were to die by her, or the Trapper, they would come back. 

Regardless, getting stabbed was still awful painful and much of the reason why one might avoid the Doctor’s office. 

Though, in this place that meant something a whole lot more terrifying. 

So, they all waited in a patient and horrifyingly tense silence, staring at their respective shadows until they become completely unrecognizable as any shape at all.

‘Just like hide and seek,’ Honey thought, ‘except I’ve got a big ... scary hook.’

She looked down at the twisted chunk of metal, a glint of dangerous moonlight traced along its edge.

The whispers came back to her, gentle and encouraging. 

‘I am not scared. I am not scared because I am the scary one,’ she nodded to herself unconvinced, repeating the words in her head like a mantra as she approached the tree.

‘I’m not scared, I’m not scared.’

It was so very hard to be brave in the dark. Harder when you knew someone else was out there waiting.

She jumped around the tree.

A woman screamed.  
A man yelled.  
Honey shrieked and then she swung.

This hadn’t been a calculated tactic, the scream was completely involuntary if not perfectly timed. 

The man that had been crouched there with the woman took off on her left, leaving his friend behind for the hook that Honey had accidentally lodged in her shoulder.

It wasn’t a particularly strong swing, the blade only buried five inches deep, which everyone knows “it isn’t the size of the hook that matters - it’s still a fucking hook!”

Panic overtook Honey and, wanting to help, attempted to yank the hook out, screaming all the while. 

It came free with great effort and great pain to the woman. 

“Why the hell are you screaming!?” shouted the woman, clutching a hand to her chest as blood seeped from the wound.

“I’m so sorry!” Honey exclaimed, “I didn’t mean to hit you!” 

“Yeah-fucking-right!” The woman pushed away from her and sprinted from her hiding spot, her partner long gone amidst the shouting and screaming. 

“No, really! I’m so, super sorry!” Honey watched her limp off, feeling quite bad about the whole thing, giving chase as if the apologies she spoke meant anything.

“Hey slow down!” 

The woman looked back over her shoulder, a deep scowl creased her face, as she squeezed her way through a narrow passageway “Get lost!”

“Wait, hold on!” Honey reached out, as if the effort alone would be enough to stop her and only realizing too late the bees that had begun to crawl about her palm and fingertips.

She paused and turned her hand over, furrowing her brow to the little fuzzy bodies that tickled over her skin. 

“Where’d you all come from?” She asked and gave a light shake of her hand, “shoo, shoo,” she said much too calmly for any other person.

Her gaze snapped up to see the woman turn a corner and head directly for a leaned pallet.

“Oh! Don’t do th-!” 

The sound of the bear trap going off made Honey flinch.

The woman collapsed, cursing over her own mistakes, cursing Honey, and frantically trying to pry the thing loose from her ankle.

“I tried to warn you,” Honey said with a bee-speckled shrug and just a little less sympathy than she should have. 

“Fuck you.”

“Rude as hell.”

“Fuck you twice.”

The heavy thump of the Trapper’s footsteps made their way towards them without haste. He sounded ten feet tall, heavy, and full of malice. 

Blood covered his overalls, someone else victim to his own blade. Maybe this poor girl’s friend? He must have been lurking close by, waiting and watching his ... whatever she was to him ... was she HIS friend? 

The word sounded strange, but was starting to become ... acceptable.

Honey offered a sheepish smile, worried she may have already broken her promise with him even if she hadn’t explicitly called out the trap. It was hard to help, being that she led a mostly murder free life.

The Trapper’s shadow fell over the injured woman like a dangerous veil, a macabre smile on his face as he reached down and yanked her up by the back of her belt, never pausing to release the trap snapped about her ankle.

The whole contraption pulled up from the ground with her, the stakes and chains that secured it making it all the more painful as the teeth dragged along the bone of her leg.

She shrieked and cried.

The Trapper paused as he hoisted her to his shoulder, looking at Honey in the held breath of a moment.

He nodded once as fists pounded at his back.  
Honey offered that crooked smile back.

With a point he directed her across the way. Gazing out over the Estate she could see the lights of a generator not to far off flickering in a futile attempt to chase away the darkness. It was all the cue she needed to wander off and chase out the Trapper’s next victim.

She wasn’t exactly proud of her role, but ... a small part of her delighted in the Trapper’s approval. 

Even if it was paid for in blood.

Sobs melded with the rustling leaves of an autumn breeze, drifting away on the massive killer’s shoulder, leaving behind unpleasant memories.

Honey wondered if these were things the other killers might laugh about over dinner and drinks. 

Barely knowing Frank, she was sure that they did.

She wheeled about.

Blue night stretched out ahead of her, dressed in empty cable spools, crooked trees, and creeping bodies.

Deep within the furthest corner generator chugged along, struggling against time as shaking hands attempted to rewire its cables and keep that spark of life going. 

Dutiful to the hunt, and more so to the Trapper, Honey set off to shoo those hands away. 

Her gaze found it bathed in red, a familiar shape crouched there, biting her lip to the cause, unaware of the danger lurking just over her shoulder.

Honey knew by the mess of black hair and dirt splotched jacket that it was Claudette, and called her out in kindness, “Claudette?”

The girl yelped and wheeled about to face her, throwing her back against the generator and clutching it for dear life.

“H-Honey,” She panted, “you scared the jeepers out of me!”

“Sorry.”

“Is that blood?” Claudette pointed a shaky finger to Honey’s clothes.

“Oh,” she looked down, “yeah.”

“Who’s?”

“Uhhh,” Honey squinted as she wracked her brain, “the one with the beanie,” she patted her own head.

“Nea,” there was resignation to the way Claudette sighed her name.

“Yes! Nea!” Honey snapped and pointed, “I didn’t mean to, I was just trying to scare her and I kind of,” she made a lazy swing with her hook and blew a raspberry, “you know? My bad.” 

“It’s ... it’s ok,” Claudette mumbled, “Nea’s usually really good at the trials, but these shadow trials are really hard...there’s not much point when you’re being hunted by TWO killers. It’s not fair. And ... and I don’t want to die again.”

“Yeah,” Honey said, “that’s understandable.”

“You didn’t come by the camp last night.”

“Oh, yeah some people showed up to welcome me to uhhhhh ... whatever you call this place.”

Claudette shrugged, “A nightmare?”

Honey chuckled, “That sounds right.”

“Who came over?”

“Legion?” 

Claudette flinched.

“I’m not a fan either. We played Catan with Amanda and Jed, you know them too?” She gently moved around Claudette and tilted her head to get a better look at the innards of the spluttering machine.

“I know them, but we don’t call them that.”

“Right, nicknames,” she tugged on the wires and recoiled to the sparks. Bees took their place, filling the void with their fuzzy little buzzing bodies.

Curious.

“Yeah, Pig and Ghost Face. Hey, should I be running?” Claudette asked.

“Oh, probably,” Honey said.

“Ok,” Claudette nodded.


	29. Chapter 29

It was quite strange, silly even, the two women running circles around eachother like some dangerous game of ring-around-the-rosie. Eventually Honey would catch up, and eventually Claudette would end up on a hook, but before that they could pretend - for just a moment - that they were friends. 

And nothing more.

“Who are you with tonight?” Claudette asked over her shoulder. 

“The Trapper. You?”

“Nea, Ace, and David.”

“Oh,” Honey exaggerated the word with a grimace. It would have been a lie to say she hadn’t thought about David, because she did, even as she drifted off to sleep against the Trapper’s chest, she thought about him.

It was a strange feeling to put words to, but she knew what it looked like - it was ugly and unrefined, something a child might draw on the walls.

Ultimately, it meant trouble.   
No matter the pride she took in it.  
Not that she’d call it that either.

“Is he ok?”

“He’s fine,” Claudette said, “pissed, but fine. That’s David for you though. He’s always pissed about something. And if he isn’t - give him time.”

“Should I apologize?”

“If you want,” Claudette said, “it won’t change anything. He’s not exactly the forgiving type, especially with uh ... with what you did.”

Honey winced.

”It’s not even a matter of being hurt,” Claudette said, “David just doesn’t like to lose. Dying means losing - I mean, it’s not even REALLY dying.”

“That’s what E- the Trapper said.”

“Yeah, it took a long time to figure out... She recreates it all you know - everything, these places, the trees, bushes, buildings - even us. We die, we come back. But we’re not the us we should be, we’re the us we WERE. Before the trials, before the hooks. Because if we knew the outcome, it would change the whole game.“

“So what’s the point?”

“Fear,” Claudette said curtly, “it’s the only thing that makes sense. We’re these ... tiny little flies in this invisible web - and it all looks so familiar, so we think we’re home, we think we’re fine - but we’re not. We’re stuck. And she feeds on us while we struggle to survive a life that’s not even real.”

“That’s terrible. How’d you ... figure it out?”

“I didn’t,” Claudette said, “it was Tal, he was - he was a survivor like me before -“

“Before?”

“Before he became one of you,” she said with a pointed look back, “he figured it out and She punished him for it. Not all the Killers are bad people you know. Some are, but not all.”

“Like Tal?”

“Yes, like Tal,” she repeated with a nod, “he was nice to me. Like you. For a little while at least.”

Their playful chase had relaxed into a friendly saunter, as if the game didn’t exist at all and they’d only been walking home from work, enjoying one another’s company to the sounds of summer crickets and cicadas. 

“Over time you just kind of ... give in to it. People become different,” there was a touch of sorrow to her voice, “in the end it didn’t even matter if we knew.”

Claudette paused.

“Hey, Honey.”

“Yeah?”

She turned to face her, her brow knit together with a deep and fearful sorrow, “Promise you won’t change. I don’t care if you kill me every trial - just - do you think we could keep talking like this?”

Honey smiled, “No, not like this, but we can certainly talk about OTHER things - like bugs and flowers, or books and movies - but not this.”

Claudette smiled back, “that sounds great.”

They shared a moment of peaceful quiet, happy enough for it, smiling in the dark at one another until the snap of twigs stole easy silence from them.

Honey saw the way Claudette’s shoulders tensed, the slight waver to her bottom lip as the fear crept right back in and embraced momentary peace in a spider’s embrace. 

“You should hide,” Honey whispered.

There was a brief glance shared between them before Claudette nodded and ducked into the shadows, leaving Honey alone to the cable spools and pallets.

It was a strange kind of loneliness that joined her there. Silent in its company, weighted with a duty never belonging to her.

And as she stood there in that demanding darkness, something very peculiar happened. There was light, bright, blinding even. 

Painful in such a dark, black world.  
So she turned from it, and when she did.

The world went black again.  
New and empty - and throbbing in her head.

You see, for Claudette had failed to tell her that the Killers, or so she had called them, were not the only ones who had changed. And Evan, the Trapper, he had tried, but Honey too enamored with his steely grey eyes, had failed to listen. 

This place was a terrible, terrible memory, twisted so much it became unrecognizable. So instead they had called it a nightmare - and they ran from it, every day, until their feet hurt and their lungs burned. Eventually, they died. Somewhere along the way, they died. It wasn’t their hearts that stopped, or the brain, no this was a much quieter death. It crept in, soft and comforting, like a friend, and slowly, over time, it grew within them. 

It was only much too late that they had realized the comfort of it all had been a lie, no, it was emptiness, vast and uncaring. 

Killers - became killers, though some always were.

Survivors - became hopeless and without hope, they became bold. 

Mean. 

And so these two sides came to be, at odds throughout this game, and though it hadn’t been the Entity’s initial design, She enjoyed it all the same. 

So they sat at Her bonfire.  
They cast in their bones, their ledgers, their petals.  
And they woke once more to Her dream.

They ran.  
They fought.  
And they died.

Over and over.  
Hoping one day - they might get lucky.

Honey learned this much quicker than anyone else, for she had only been in this realm for three days, by all normal counts, and woke up with an aching head and her hands bound with rags and rope. 

“Ace, you promised,” Claudette’s voice wavered like a current, distant to Honey’s ears despite how close the woman actually stood beside her.

She felt thirty feet deep beneath nonexistent waters, heavy there in the lake bed, looking up at a world that couldn’t quite straighten itself amongst the ripples - and the words that came with it were bubbles in her ears.

“I know, I know,” said Ace, “but this is her last shadow trial - we either do it now or we’re stuck here until another one comes along. You really want to wait that long?“

“What about the campfire...”

“She won’t come,” he said, a touch of sternness to his voice, “they never do. But now - we’ve actually got a GOOD chance. We can get out. Trust me.”

Trust me, he always said that.

Claudette looked to Honey, an apologetic dullness to her eyes before nodding her acceptance. 

Honey couldn’t pick apart all of the nuances of their conversation, or the looks they gave one another, or even her, too dizzy and still much too confused on why she couldn’t move or seem to form any coherent thoughts. 

She could see her feet before her in the splintered remains of the pallet, could feel the heat of Ace’s body close to her side, the soft gambler’s hands at her wrists, tightening the knot that bound them.

“Sorry about this, sweetheart,” he said.

Honey, groggy still, couldn’t comprehend just yet why he was sorry at all.

She tried to reply, to ask what he meant, but the taste of cotton on her tongue gagged all words she might have said, and very quickly she realized ‘Oh shit - I’m being kidnapped,’ and then thought if it could really be called a kidnapping if she were an adult, and more so even if she were some sort of villain in their story.

And so, she was strangely calm about the whole situation.

After all, what was death here but a temporary absence?

“Think you can stand?”

Honey frowned at him and most likely muttered something quite arrant, but the tie about her mouth made it sound more like “hmf ffuff uf fnff,” which Ace could not discern at all and assumed, most correctly, she was still unsteady from the crack of a pallet over her shoulder and the subsequent crack of her head in the dirt. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going to help you up now, ok?” 

Honey bobbed her head side to side, a half roll of her eyes as if to say ‘yeah, whatever,’ and allowed him to hook an arm under hers.

Together they stood up, Claudette watching with guilted unease, unable to meet Honey’s eyes, fearing the betrayal in them.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Ace said, “we just need you out of the game for a little bit.”

Honey squinted.

She sighed in her defeat - temporary though it was, because in that moment where she turned her eyes downward she had spied the just barely disguised teeth among the grass and decided - she didn’t very much like being kidnapped.

And that darkness within her - grew just a little bit more.

She was okay with hurting David.  
Okay with hurting Nea.  
She would be okay with hurting Ace. 

And Claudette - well, Claudette saw the change in her eyes and knew that all those promises were nothing but wilted petals swallowed by fire.


End file.
